


the view when you're falling

by peculiarblue



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: AU, Also kisses, F/M, Future Fic, So much fluff and flirting, au where ned and mj do not know peter, coffee shop au no one ever asks for but you always get, even tho i hate coffee, identity reveal! at the end! woo!, mj meets spiderman at work one night and they fall in love, ned and mj bffs lets go!, takes spideychelle literally, very loosely based on s1 of the flash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: MJ decides to cash in her good deed of the week by covering her best friend Ned's night shift at the local coffee shop and gets a lot more than she bargained for when a masked hero swings in for a late night order.alternatively: MJ falls in love with Spider-Man one night on the rooftop of the coffee shop she works in. and the next night. and every night after that.





	the view when you're falling

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys, i'm back! 
> 
> story notes: MJ and Ned are bffs because i'm manifesting it and putting it in the universe bc it's a Very Wonderful concept to me. Also, Ned and MJ DO NOT know Peter in this lil AU, set a few years in the future, like senior year in college. I don't know anything about coffee or coffee shops, and am still new in the superhero world so, i apologize for any inaccuracies.
> 
> also, i'm sorry its a novel. i have learned that if its not a one shot, i cant finish it #commitment issues, rip to like 7 of my fallen fics that still stand as like 4/? and not updated in 2 years.
> 
> loosely (very very very loosely) based on s1 of 'the flash' where iris meets up with the flash on the roof of the coffee shop she works at for her journalism career, but in my story MJ is just flirting with the superhero she meets at work. because love <3.
> 
> wrote this before endgame so hopefully it's just enough fluff to make y'all smile.
> 
> life notes: i'm gonna fail my biochem exam for this but if at least 3 people like this it'll be worth it. procrastination is my passion.
> 
> okay, i think that's it, onward! higher! further! faster!

* * *

 

Here’s how it happens:

 

She’s practically elbow deep in a box of tiny pink sugar packets under the counter by the register, a rebellious curl annoying the shit out of her as it tickles her between her eyebrows, and some coffee shop playlist her boss swears on playing lightly in the closed and empty store.

 

She spent a good portion of her night pissed that no one covered her flaky co-worker who was supposed to be on closing tonight with her. Ned would usually jump on shifts with her in a heartbeat, heart of gold that guy and whatnot (it would make her hurl if she didn’t like him so much). But looking back on it, if there was ever a time for him to bail because he finally manned up and asked out that cute regular who sat in the back left corner, tonight was the night to go.

 

You don’t get many chances to meet the local spandex savior. ( _“Shut up, MJ, his suit is not spandex! Do you know the kind of tech that’s gotta be in that thing?! Not spandex, that’s for sure._ )

 

Everyone likes to swap Spider stories, some better than others. Heroic saves and windswept hair as he webs you away from danger. And while MJ is more critical of the high-flying anecdotes than most, even she has to admit, nothing about her situation would put her among the highest ranks.

 

Because it happens as she’s refilling packets of artificial sugar and her best friend Ned is filling her in on his love life over the phone.

 

“And then on the way back from the restaurant we walked past Central Park and I never really pay attention to streetlights but MJ, dude, I swear—“

 

“Did the dusty orange glow of a crap streetlamp illuminate her beautiful face and make you fall deeply in love?” She quirks, though the small smile on her lips would betray her had he been able to see it.

 

“Yes! God, she’s so pretty, you know?” His excitement is so infectious MJ’s nose crinkles in a huff of a laugh as she stands walks to the far side of the counter, phone tucked under her ear.

 

“I _do_ know. She’s one of my favorite customers. Tips well,” she drops the small pink packets into their spot next to the stirrers, “So I guess your little love story is good for something here.”

 

“And you’ll never guess, oh my god, guess what MJ, guess!”

 

She snickers and walks back to grab the box of sugar to return to the back room storage, “What?”

 

“She’s seen every Star Wars movie… _every one!_ ”

 

“I don’t know how you expected me to guess that.”

 

“She’s perfect. I don’t even know—“ she hears him sigh on the other end of the line as she bends to pick up the box, “You’ll need to call me again in the morning just to confirm I’m not dreaming right now.”

 

“I’m happy for you, Leeds.”

 

“You’ll _love_ her, too.”

 

“I already told you—favorite customer.”

 

“Yeah, but… _double dates_ …”

 

She presses her forehead on the edge of the counter and blinks her eyes in annoyance, “Do not start with me again, I swear, Ned.” She huffs, and switches the phone to her other ear, still crouched below the counter sorting.

 

“I’m just saying—“

 

“And _I’m_ saying, I’m not really interested right now in—“

 

“Um, hi?”

 

A voice sounds that isn’t hers and isn’t Neds and it makes MJ’s heart woosh up her throat. Didn’t she lock up? It’s near 11.

 

It barely registered but she feels like she should panic. Not that the voice sounded menacing but, this is how episodes of _Criminal Minds_ start, right? Right.

 

Stranger. Stranger in the store. Her whole body freezes and she settles on panicking for just about a millisecond before dropping her phone and jumping up, box of sugar packets clutched near her chest as if it were some sort of shield.

 

Honestly, if she doesn’t end up dead by her assumed serial killer, she could die of embarrassment.

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

This is that moment. Her Spider-Man moment.

 

She thinks she mumbles it just under her breath enough, but judging by the way his buggy eyes widen a bit, she wasn’t so lucky.

 

“I’m sorry, I— is that?” He sways on his feet and points to her box, which she instinctively pulls up higher, right under her chin, for, of course, high-skilled protection purposes. She feels like face planting into the sugar packets. But she just keeps looking at him.

 

Spider-Man! In her coffee shop!

 

Not her coffee shop but, the coffee shop she works in! While she’s working in it!

 

“You know that’s honestly not a bad weapon of choice,” he shrugs, points to the box, “Artificial sugars have been linked to an extremely high rate of heart disease and premature death.”

 

She just can’t help it if her jaw drops just a little as she gapes.

 

But it suddenly seems as if its his turn to panic, as his mask-eyes widen once again and his hands shake in front of him, “Not that, you know, you need a weapon for me. I’m not—I would never—“

 

“You’re Spider-Man,” she doesn’t move, just looks him up and down a little as he continues to stumble over his words.

 

“Right, I— yes, yes. You got me!” He chuckles nervously.

 

“See, the way you said that kind of makes me think you’re not Spider-Man,” she quirks an eyebrow up, box still in hand.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because even you sound surprised that you’re Spider-Man.”

 

“But I am! I am, and I am not trying to kill you, so you can drop—“

 

“That’s exactly what someone who _was_ going to kill me would say!” She screeches, takes a step back and holds the box out, again, finding a strange amount of protection in it.

 

“Wouldn’t I have just killed you by now if I was going to?”

 

“Maybe this is all part of your sick, twisted game!” Her eyebrows shoot up as she glares at him, still wary, back now pressed against the opposite wall.

 

“It’s _not,_ ma’am, I just—“

 

“Did you just call me _ma’am_?”

 

“You just called me a serial killer!”

 

“I didn’t!” She lets the box drop in her hands to in front of her waist now, pitching forward defensively to yell at him.

 

“You _implied_ it!” He huffs.

 

“Well, excuse me for being a little wary of someone who snuck into my store in the middle of the night!”

 

“It’s 10!”

 

“11!” She counters, not budging, and he sighs, defeated.

 

“Please, I’m sorry if I scared you,” he presses a hand to his forehead in worry, “That’s literally the complete opposite of what I do. Unless you’re a bad guy, like—”

 

“You think I look like a bad guy?”

 

“No! No no no, I don’t think that at all,” he shakes his head and steps forwards, “I’m just saying, I’m Spider-Man, and I stop criminals and bad guys not— you know, thats not the point, I just, I just want—“ he motions one of his hands out in her direction.

 

MJ looks down at the box in her hands, then back to him, “You want death by sugar?”

 

“Coffee,” he emphasizes with another point and what MJ believes would be a frown under the mask, “I just really need coffee right now.”

 

MJ feels she has a few options in this moment, and quite honestly, none of them really look too great. The fact still remains that a sketchy ambiguous masked figure got into the shop without her noticing at all and that is textbook definition of cause for concern. She knows he _looks_ like Spider-Man, but, is she as sure as she was at first glance? No. However, he seems to genuinely feel bad for intruding, and for making her feel like he’s a sketchy ambiguous masked figure she should be concerned about. And he just wants coffee.

 

“I’ll pay double.”

 

She bites her bottom lip and puffs out a breath of air. He bounces on his heels.

 

“You promise you’re actually Spider-Man?”

 

He’s silent for a moment, looks to his left and his right, then focuses back on MJ, “Could you just—“ he tilts his head to his left shoulder and waves two finger in the same direction.

 

MJ blinks and takes one step to her left.

 

He straightens one arm out, and before MJ even has a chance to take her next breath, something white and stringy flies by her body and grips a cup on the top of the stack on her side.

 

MJ’s body stays pitched to the side, out of the way as he pulls the cup, attached to a web (a _real life_ _web,_ Ned would pass out), back to his side of the counter and places it gently on the edge.

 

“Coffee? Please?”

 

So fuck it, MJ thinks. Either she’s making coffee overtime for Spider-Man or one really scary-accurate impersonator.

 

She drops the box by her feet and grabs the cup, still slightly stuck to his web.

 

“Oh my god, thank you, thank you so much, um…” he peers up on his tip toes to try to look at MJ’s name tag, but she’s had it off for the last hour of cleanup.

 

“ _Ma’am,_ ” she smirks, before turning to the coffee machines behind her, “I’m assuming not decaf?”

 

The way his shoulders shrug up and he rubs the sole of his foot on the tile underneath him makes MJ believe his suit should be turning all shades of a brighter red right now, before he answers with a laugh, “Um no, yeah. Uh, regular, I think. And hot?”

 

“Have you never ordered coffee before?”

 

“I don’t really like coffee,” he says as she turns to slide the hot cup to him.

 

“And you figure ambushing me at 11 on a Friday night for hot coffee would be how you’d start?”

 

“It’s not for me, though I am still _extremely_ sorry about this,” he starts, “For my aunt.”

 

He says it so lightly, so fondly, that MJ feels like smiling too.

 

It’s quiet for a minute, MJ staring at the cup of regular black coffee, before she looks up at him again and says, “Is this it?”

 

He nods.

 

MJ waits, stares at him again.

 

“You have no idea what she likes in her coffee, do you?”

 

“Not a clue.”

 

She laughs lightly and grabs the cup back.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m not sending you out with straight black coffee!”

 

“You don’t need to—“

 

“Relax, it’s my job,” she smiles and grabs the milk from behind her.

 

“Thank you,” he lifts a hand and rests it behind his neck, “I know it looks bad that I don’t know her coffee order, but I really never see her drink it. Which is probably why I’ve never bothered with it. We were a tea household.”

 

“So again, and don’t take this the wrong way, but, why start _tonight_?” She pours some milk in, eyes still on his wide masked ones.

 

“Well, she’s always so tired, and I tell her every night that I go out on patrol that she doesn’t have to wait up, that I’m _fine,_ you know? Its been years… but she worries. That’s Aunt May. Worrier no matter how old I get.”

 

MJ nods and puts down the milk, grabs a stirrer.

 

He continues, “But I hate that she worries and is up all night, and the other day she said she should invest in more caffeine for the longer nights so…”

 

MJ smiles, holds the cup in her hands, “That’s really sweet and all, but I hope you do know there _is_ caffeinated tea.”

 

He presses a hand on the edge of the counter and quirks his head to the side, “No way! Really?”

 

She nods and sets the cup down, already turning to grab another.

 

“Do you know what kind of tea she likes?”

 

“Wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to—“

 

“Spidey, dude, can I call you Spidey?” She looks at him over her shoulder, he nods, slowly, “Cool. Look, making your aunt tea is the least I can do for being the first person in New York’s history to accuse our resident hero of being a serial killer.”

 

“You didn’t actually say I was a serial killer,” he shrugs, she starts to pour the hot water.

 

“I implied it,” She looks back at him again, “Tea of choice for Aunt May?”

 

“She likes Earl Grey, thanks.”

 

“You got it,” she turns back and plops the tea bag in, stirs.

 

“I’m sorry too,” he says as she takes a step up to the counter, tea in hand, “For coming into your shop and being difficult and also saying you look like a bad guy.”

 

“Honestly, kinda think I’d make a badass super villain,” she smirks, before crouching down and grabbing a handful of pink sugar packets. Her curls bounce over her shoulder when she pops up to meet him again, “Sugar?”

 

“Yes, actually,” he holds a hand out and she drops a few packets into his outstretched hand.

 

“They’re not going to kill you?”

 

He shakes his head and tries to rip the small packet open, but his sticky spider fingers prove to be an unwelcome barrier. She giggles to herself as he struggles with it for a bit, then on a whim decides to reach out and take the packet from him.

 

“Here, let me,” she leans forwards and reaches an arm out, her pinky brushing the side of his fingers lightly in the process. She has to clear her throat and tuck her head to the side for fear he’ll see the beginnings of a blush.

 

“My hero,” he chuckles, as she rips the top of the packet off and pours it into the cup of tea.

 

“You better watch out, Spidey, I’m coming for your job.”

 

He laughs as she puts the lid on top of the cup. And then she hears the faintest little yawn. Honestly, it’s the cutest sound she’s ever heard, and feels like no man, especially one dressed in bright red spandex, should be allowed to be considered cute.

 

But here we are.

 

“I think we’re going to make tonight the night you like coffee,” she says, and grabs the discarded coffee cup back.

 

“What? No, I don’t—“

 

“Honestly, I thought you’d have some high-tech caffeine boost in that fancy suit of yours, but if my espresso shot magic has to do it, I accept the challenge.”

 

She can practically feel him fidgeting behind her, so uncomfortably awkward that he shouldn’t be a superhero, he just shouldn’t, but he is and it’s surreally wonderful and makes it ten times cuter.

 

“Thank you, but I really should go—“

 

“You’re not saving the world if you’re falling asleep,” she spins and places the cup next to it’s tea counterpart once she’s finished with it, “One MJ Special, at your service.”

 

He looks down at the cup then back to her, coughs a little, “Are, um, are you MJ?”

 

“The one and only,” she nods.

 

“Cool, um, nice to meet you, MJ. I’m uh, Spider-Man?”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure, just feels weird,” he lets out a breathy laugh then leans over the cup, “So what’s in it? The MJ Special?”

 

“I can’t give away my secrets!” She says, hands on the counter and head tilted against her shoulder, “But there is some sugar…”

 

“Oh my god, the weapon sugar? I knew you were one of the bad guys!”

 

“Drink at your own risk,” she laughs at his exasperated yell.

 

“I’m sorry again, for coming in so late,” he starts again, voice so genuine it kind of hurts, “You were the only place with your lights still on, except for 7/11 which, honestly, I think I’ve been blacklisted from.”

 

“I’m going to need to hear _that_ full story sometime.”

 

“Oh no, it’s so embarrassing.”

 

“It cannot be that bad.”

 

“Oh it can and it is!”

 

She giggles, “Well, work up the courage by the time you come back to tell me what you think of my coffee, yeah?” He does the hand-on-his-neck-scratch thing again, and it makes her smile. “Unless you can drink that through the mask and give me your review right now.”

 

“I’ll be back,” he says brightly, “Though, I already have a weird felling that I’ll like it.”

 

She looks at his masked face and swears she sees the material turn up ever so slightly in what would be a smile, then she watches him train his eyes on the menu board behind her. She turns and follows where he’s looking, realizes he’s searching for the price. “Hey, don’t worry about it. They’re on me,” she waves him off.

 

“No, no, I can’t—“

 

“I’m not accepting anything so just take the drinks and be caffeinated enough to save the world tonight, got it?”

 

He gulps, holds the cup in his hands, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

They stare at each other for a few moments longer, lingering in the smell of old coffee and fresh tea and the light lull of soft coffee shop music and if MJ didn’t have to move she doesn’t think she would.

 

“Before they get cold, Spidey!” She nudges a hand towards the door and he nods in rapid succession, bouncing on his feet before running to exit.

 

“Thanks again, MJ!” He turns once before he’s gone, and it takes her a full two minutes to recover from his little wave that made her pulse feel like it was doing somersaults.

 

She doesn’t think she’d ever have the willpower of her own to break from her trance if it weren’t for Ned’s voice over her phone she dropped under the counter and never hung up before dealing with… _that_.

 

“MJ? Was that—“

 

She bends and picks the phone up quickly, yelling, “Yeah, Ned, I’m gonna need to call you in the morning,” before swiftly hanging up and shoving it into her pocket with a loud, deep breath.

 

Ned’s going to have to compete for most dream-like night. She’s pretty sure no matter how pretty and wonderful his coffee shop girl is, making Spider-Man and his aunt coffee probably wins.

 

* * *

 

 “Chai latte for Jen!”

 

“MJ, _why_ are you still not freaking out?”

 

MJ smirks at Ned’s pestering behind her as she holds a chai latte at the end of the counter the next morning.

 

“I’m just trying to not make it a big deal,” she grits through a smile, extends the drink in hand out to a customer with a “have a nice day”, then turns to her friend, “Which is the exact _opposite_ of what you are doing right now.”

 

“Because it _is_ a big deal! Hell, it didn’t even happen to me and I’m freaking out!” He waves his arms dramatically and MJ turns to grab another cup to fill the next order.

 

“Well good thing it didn’t, or you might actually combust,” she says, “And I don’t know how I’d get through shifts with Flash alone.” They both turn to see the man in question at the register, already in his third customer fight of the day and it’s barely past 11.

 

“I’d never leave you MJ,” Ned says sweetly, before grabbing a white towel and starting to move out from the counter, “Unless Spider-Man is taking new best friend applications. Then you’re dead to me.”

 

She laughs as he retreats to wipe down tables. Her and Ned have been best friends for longer than she can remember, and even though they don’t go to the same college, they’re both still in the city and they have their obligatory broke-college kid minimum-wage job to bond over. She’d really hate to see Spider-Man come in and ruin it all.

 

She laughs to herself over the thought, and the image that immediately pops into her head of Ned passing out in front of the hero and his personal idol, which she knows would be extremely accurate.

 

The shop bustles with the mid-day rush, people running in and out, sitting by the windows, laptops open, on phone calls, letting the soft coffee shop music play around them. On busy days like today MJ gets into a good groove, a rhythm, a focus on caffeinated beverages and caffeinated beverages only.

 

But just about an hour into her shift, she’s already disrupted.

 

_Swing and Sip: Local Hero Proves Everyone Needs Caffeine_

 

Theres a picture above the local news station headline that shows Spider-Man sitting on the edge of a fire escape, mask pushed up just under his nose, sipping a little cup of coffee from none other than yours truly.

 

MJ swears she hears Ned’s jaw hit the floor when it flashes across the small TV screen on the front corner wall of the shop.

 

She stares at the screen, container of creamer in hand, until the newscasters (thankfully) decide to move onto something new.

 

Ned’s white was towel waves wildly from the table he’s wiping down, and before she tries to get back to work, she catches his eye and doesn’t miss the way he animatedly mouths “No big deal?”

 

She shakes her head with a laugh.

 

The day goes on and she continues to convince herself of that fact. No big deal. He was just another customer, right? She makes plenty of people coffee. Just add him to the list.

 

A few hours later and her ‘no big deal’ mantra is still going strong as her and Ned sit on boxes in the back room for a 10-minute break.

 

“Do you think he’ll be back?” Ned asks, eyes glowing, probably already planning to never miss a night shift ever again.

 

“I don’t know.” _Yes._

 

“He was out for _hours_ last night, MJ. What’d you give him, straight espresso beans?”

 

“2,” she nods over to him, taking a sip from her water bottle, toes tapping on the floor, “2 shots of espresso.”

 

Ned laughs, leans in to interrogate some more, “So you guys are like friends, now, right?”

 

“He was in here for like, 10 minutes tops. I’d hardly call that friends.”

 

“Your friends call you MJ,” he sits up, smirking.

 

MJ turns to look at him, eyebrows knitted together, “And?”

 

“ _And,_ if I recall correctly from your play-by-play of events, when he left he said ‘Bye, _MJ_!’…”

 

MJ eyes him warily, and he looks smug, like he’s won, and eventually she sighs in defeat, “He actually said ’Thanks again, MJ,’ but sure, Ned, we’re friends.”

 

He squeals in childlike delight and MJ leans forward to attempt to nudge him off his makeshift seat, when an entirely unwelcome presence interrupts.

 

“Jones? Friends with Spider-Man?” Flash steps into the room making them turn. “Sure, and I’m dating Kendall Jenner,” he drawls, and MJ feels the sudden urge to fist fight.

 

“What do you gain from being such an asshole?” She quips.

 

“I get to see the hilarious looks on your two dweeby faces,” he shifts in his stance and crosses his arms then looks at them pointedly with an added chuckle, “Just like that, look at you, you look miserable!”

 

“Eugene, I hope you know there’s absolutely nothing enjoyable about looking at your face, dweeby or not,” She mirrors his posture, but still stays seated. It’s her break! “So can you get what you came in here for and then leave?”

 

“No, no, _please_ , don’t stop your little fangirling session on my account,” he stays planted in position, waves them on with a flick of a few fingers, “I wanna hear all about what Spider-Man said to his new delusional bff.”

 

“You wish you could talk to Spider-Man!” Ned yells, on MJ’s defense.

 

“But for everyone’s sake, let’s hope he doesn’t make him coffee, because then there’d be no more Spider-Man,” MJ tilts her head towards Ned and says cheekily, a tight smile.

 

“And we wouldn’t want that!” Ned feigns, and Flash fumes in front of them.

 

“Ha-ha, you guys, my coffee’s _fine_.”

 

“You can only work the register,” MJ flips back to him, eyebrows raised.

 

“3 people got food poisoning in a week,” Ned adds with a droll.

 

“This is off topic,” Flash waves, then sighs and collects himself as Ned snickers under his breath and MJ just smiles, “The point is, you’re never going to convince me MJ made one of the greatest superheroes of our time coffee.”

 

“And tea!” She adds brightly.

 

“Oh, can’t forget the tea,” Ned smiles.

 

“You guys are a real pair of idiots, you know that?” He huffs, “I just came to tell you someone needs to take out the trash.” MJ looks down and notices the bag by the small room’s entrance.

 

“Why didn’t you just take out the trash?” Ned asks.

 

“Because I hate taking out the trash and as of…” Flash looks down at his unnecessarily extravagant watch, “45 seconds ago, you two are off your break!” He points between them, then takes slow steps out the door with a snarky wave.

 

Ned groans and throws his head back, “How many more months of this?”

 

MJ pats him twice on the shoulder and stands with a sigh, “If I work counter next to him right now I won’t make it another week here. I’ll take clean up,” she walks towards the door and grabs the large black bag.

 

“So I can’t beat him up?”

 

MJ looks back at Ned quickly, seems to consider her answer for a moment, then says with a smirk, “No one will see if you kick him in the shin under the counter.”

 

“I like the way you think!” He laughs.

 

She waves and leaves, hoisting the large trash bag behind her as she walks down the narrow hallway to the back door. She uses the side of her body to push the door open with a click, and the almost-spring-but-not-quite air rushes at her full force. She slides the loose brick they use to prop the door open over, then moves to throw the trash in the large dumpster to her left.

 

“Uh, hi there!”

 

MJ drops the bag and swivels quickly to face the center of the alleyway.

 

And then it registers, the voice, when she’s met with a familiar mask.

 

Could you imagine if she let Ned take the trash?

 

“Dude, you’ve gotta stop doing that,” MJ lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and presses a hand to her chest. She smiles.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says sheepishly. She smiles a little wider.

 

“Less than 24 hours, huh? My coffee that good?”

 

“Amazing,” his hands swing by his side and MJ moves to lean against the wall, one foot propped behind her, “And Aunt May was so happy I stopped by. Loved the tea, and now loves you, so thanks.”

 

“Happy I could help,” she quirks her head to the side, gestures for him to join her. He bounces on his toes for a minute, unsure, but when she nudges the wall with her elbow again, he looks too similar to a puppy as he moves to stand next to her, shoulders touching.

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure, if I can ask you one too,” she smirks.

 

“Okay then, you first,” he replies, voice slightly muffled by his mask.

 

“Wait, that’s a lot of pressure, you go first!”

 

He giggles, “You can get 2 questions if you go first.”

 

“Oh well I guess if you put it that way,” she hums sarcastically as he continues his mirthy giggle that barely sounds human, too much like sunshine. She taps the foot thats on the ground and looks over at him, “Fine, fine. I’ll start with a lame one before I work up to the serious stuff.”

 

“Serious stuff?”

 

She shushes him, with a wave of one hand, then continues, “Okay, how did you know I was here?”

 

“Ah, fair question,” he starts, and she thinks right about now he’d be wearing the most delicious smirk if she could see it, “I was swinging by, just had a feeling.”

 

“A feeling?”

 

He nods, “Like a… like a sense.”

 

“A spidey sense?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him with a laugh.

 

“Oh my god, I regret it already,” he drops his forehead into one hand with a little laugh that echoes hers, then turns his head in his hand just slightly to look up at her, “Because of my powers, everything’s heightened, extreme. Feelings, senses, emotions.”

 

“So you were just flying by the coffee shop and suddenly your whole body was like ‘MJ, MJ! MJ’s here! Alert! MJ!’” She mocks, which makes him do that sunshine giggle again.

 

“Exactly like that,” he says, smugly, when their laughter dies down. She looks over at him, and sees something slightly falter before he quietly adds, “Well… maybe not exactly like that, but it way more romantic when I put it like that.”

 

Oh, so Spidey’s _bold_ bold today.

 

She loves it.

 

Her gasping smile takes up a good portion of her sunlit face as he, bless the boy, tries (and fails) to recover, “I mean, it’s— you know, not that, um, I’m trying to—“ He mumbles quickly, apologetically.

 

“So that saves me a question,” She says, smile wide, “Was going to ask if we were friends. That was a much better answer than I was expecting.”

 

He gapes. She bites her bottom lip.

 

“Your turn?”

 

He blinks, the eyes of his mask flashing up and down, “Okay, yeah, sure, um… I was just going to ask what was in the coffee you made me.”

 

“Well that’s a lame question, since you know I’m not going to tell you.”

 

“What!? Why not?” he yells.

 

“Because it’s my secret recipe,” she crosses her arms, lips quirked up in the ghost of a smirk.

 

“I bet you just made it up on the spot.”

 

“The accusations!” She yells back wildly, still smiling, “This is worse than when you called me a serial killer.”

 

“What, I didn’t— _you_ called _me_ a serial killer!”

 

“Did I?” She feigns innocence, “But seriously, that’s my favorite coffee I gave you. I worked hard to get the perfect combination.”

 

“Well then, this is a compliment. It was really good. But if you don’t share the recipe with me, you’ll be the only one who can make them for me.” MJ eyes him, tries too look as deep into those masked eyes as she possibly can. He seems clueless as ever though, just shrugs and continues to add, “I just still felt bad about last night, and don’t wanna keep bothering you, like I might show up—oh.”

 

She smiles.

 

“Okay cool, you don’t have to tell me, I’ll keep coming.”

 

“A little slow on that one, Spidey,” she bumps his shoulder.

 

“I don’t think spiders were ever known for their speed.”

 

There’s a bit of a silence between them, like last night standing across the counter inside. Though it should be admittedly less swoon worthy when you’re standing next to a dumpster, MJ believes if he’s feeling anywhere near what she’s feeling right now, she’d expect his mask eyes to morph into heart shapes any second now.

 

“So, since I’m here, would you make me one of your perfect coffees?”

 

“I don’t think you were given 2 questions…” She pushes off the wall, spins to face him.

 

“Can I borrow yours?”

 

“I still want to use my second question!” She backs up slowly towards the door, “It’s really important, asking for a friend actually.”

 

“Where are you going then?”

 

“To make your coffee,” she winks, he steps away from the wall and in stands in front of the door, “I’ll trade you for an answer.”

 

“Hit me.”

 

* * *

 

“What the hell, Jones?” Flash whisper yells to her as she squeezes behind him to grab a hot cup, “You were gone for like 20 minutes! I could have you fired, you know.”

 

“Relax, it was barely more than 5 minutes, and honestly, I’m about to become employee of the year,” she smirks, presses the small black handle to fill the cup with steaming hot coffee.

 

“Oh really? And what makes you say that?”

 

“Because a good friend of mine is about to do big things for business,” she tops the cup and wiggles a black sharpie in her right hand.

 

“What are you talking about?” He grows more agitated by the second, and based on the way he stands frozen as she stalks away, must catch a glimpse of her sloppily written ‘ _Spidey’_ on the side of the cup.

 

She throws a quick middle finger over her head, and giggles at the face her favorite red mask makes as he leans one arm on the side of the door she’s practically skipping towards.

 

By the time she’s back, Flash has barely recovered enough to start taking orders again, and Ned is practically buzzing.

 

It really sets her two co-workers over the edge when local hero proves _,_ yet again _,_ that everyone needs caffeine _._

 

Spider-Man skips by the large windows at the front of the shop, cup in hand, and waves wildly over his head.

 

MJ leans one hand on the counter and use her free arm to wave back.

 

Big deal. _Big_ deal.

 

He webs to a nearby building and she feels like he probably tugged her heart right out of her body with him.

 

“Hey Ned?” She says calmly, turning to get back to wiping down tables.

 

He nods dumbly.

 

“His suit? I asked: It _is_ part spandex.”

 

* * *

 

There’s several reasons why MJ prefers the night shift.

 

1- Its slower, usually slow enough to do some schoolwork in between customers. 2- Flash never works then, big socialite that he needs to prove he is every night. 3- Free stuff to bring home at the end of the day.

 

So lots of reasons, probably even more than she can think of off the top of her head at the moment, but not a single one includes a certain arachnid-boy.

 

“This is the fourth night in a row you’ve worked, MJ!” Ned cleans the countertop MJ sits atop, legs swinging and head tucked to the pages of her latest read.

 

“Rent is not cheap in this city! Gonna need all the cash I can get before we graduate,” she barely bats an eyelash to answer him, even though he huffs again.

 

“So this is all just you being financially responsible?” She nods. “Has nothing to do with—“

 

“Don’t say it Ned,” she interrupts, eyes still trained on the page in front of her.

 

“Spider—“

 

“Nope.” She sounds with a ‘pop’ and grabs the towel without batting an eyelash to throw back at his face, “Don’t you have an actual date to be worrying about?”

 

Despite his evident flush, he stammers through, “Don’t turn this around on me, I know you’re only just suddenly fascinated with working nights because you’re waiting for him to come back.”

 

Okay, so maybe she hasn’t been totally honest.

 

4- She’s been waiting for her standing date to be fulfilled. Though date is a loose term. Meeting? Hang out? Conversation between mutual acquaintances?

 

Though she’d never tell Ned that.

 

He was a nice guy, and he did imply he was coming back and it would just be rude to stand him up, and with the whole anonymity thing he had going on, it made it hard to know just when exactly she was trying to not stand him up. So, night shift every night it was! It is true that its night four with no show since they last spoke outside the back of the shop, but she really is making good money on the extra shifts she’s been picking up, and it is much calmer, and she and Ned split old croissants on the way out the door, and there’s no Flash, so reasons 1-3 still stand.

 

Just waiting on 4 to pull through.

 

“Look, I don’t blame you. I’m going to show up to as many of these hopeful rendezvous as I can for the chance to get a glimpse of my future best friend,” he smirks, she rolls her eyes, “I just don’t see why you’re hiding it from _your current_ best friend.”

 

“I’m not hiding anything from you, Ned,” she says truthfully, because if he showed, Ned would be the first to know.

 

“He really didn’t say when he was coming back?”

 

“I assume that wasn’t on the top of list of things to do, in between oh, I don’t know, stopping crime around the city,” she slips off the counter and shuts her book, decidedly not getting anywhere past the paragraph she’s already tried to reread six times.

 

“Oh, that’s it!” Ned shrieks, and MJ turns to face him, “Tomorrow night, I’ll stage a robbery, you can wait behind the counter and I’ll sneak in and he’ll _have_ to come then!”

 

“Oh my god,” she deadpans.

 

“Its brilliant.”

 

“Go home.”

 

“MJ—“

 

“I can’t believe you have a girlfriend and you’re about to lose her while you’re here plotting staged robberies for me,” she laughs a little, stacks some cups together next to the register.

 

“Oh, she’d totally be on board with this.”

 

“Well, then, perfect. You go home and ask her about it,” MJ smirks to her left, “I’ll lock up.”

 

“Ohhhh, okay,” Ned elongates with a devious grin, “Cool, I see how it is. You want some _alone_ time if—“

 

“Goodbye, Ned,” she waves sarcastically as he slips out from behind the counter and swings a strap of his backpack over one shoulder.

 

“Can I get an autograph this time, maybe?”

 

“Good _night_ ,” she sings, and he shakes her off, pressing a shoulder to the door and letting the gust of outside air that rushes in ruffle the top of his hair and let a pile of napkins fly and flutter off the edge of a table by the door.

 

MJ drums her left fingers on the top of the register. The shop had closed about an hour ago by now, and she and Ned had finished cleaning, stacking chairs and cups, storing sugar packets and binge eating leftover brownies. So she doesn’t feel bad about shooing him off just 5 minutes before she locks up and leaves herself.

 

The only thing left to do is make her to-go cup of “MJ Special” coffee and lock the front door.

 

She shrugs her apron off and replaces it with a long black sweatshirt, slings her bag over a shoulder, grabs her coffee, and starts for the door.

 

She’s about to push the door open when her foot slides forward on a napkin. _Thanks Ned,_ she thinks, glad to have caught herself from a scalding hot spill. She plops her coffee cup on the table next to her, then drops to gather the small brown napkins.

 

And really, what kind of games is the universe playing?

 

She’ll have to remind herself to elbow Ned on his way in the door tomorrow morning for his unintentional meddling.

 

Because as she’s crouched down by the floor in front of the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop, she happens to look up for just a moment, and come face to face with two spider feet (is that a thing? Like, they’re human, but he’s part-spider… or is he? She doesn’t know, but this train of thought is getting her absolutely nowhere).

 

“Can you learn how to say hello to me like a normal human being?” She yells to herself, knowing he probably can’t hear it through the glass as she stands and pushes the door open.

 

He runs his hands down the sides of his thighs shyly, staring at the open door.

 

“Do I have something in my teeth or are you going to come in?” She says, one hand on her hip, the other on the door, “Or, do I need to invite you in like a vampire?”

 

“Serial killer, vampire, are you sure you like me?” His giggling tone betrays him, but he stands still.

 

“Are you gonna make me say it?”

 

“I don’t know, might be nice to hear,” he shrugs, and she doesn’t know where he picked up confidence lessons in the time since she’s last seen him (and on the note of new developments, were those ab muscles always there, like, _why_ can’t she stop staring suddenly?).

 

“Can you come in? Its cold.” She juts out her bottom lip and presses her body closer to the door.

 

Confidence flies out the door with him and his chest suddenly droops and he runs inside, “Oh god, sorry, Em, are you okay?”

 

Her forehead unintentionally drops against the glass door as she shuts it, flashes her unbearable grin for any late-night city straggler, _(_ I mean, _Em,_ are you kidding, web right to the heart) before spinning back to her guest.

 

“I’m good now,” she tries to sigh the smile away, but she has a feeling she’s unsuccessful.

 

“I would offer you my jacket if I had one,” he stumbles over his feet as quickly as he does his words, backing into a low table behind him, “I should get one built into the suit.”

 

“Save it, Spidey.”

 

“Are you sure you’re not cold?”

 

“Oh my god, I’d rather you go back to making me talk about how much I like you,” she throws her head back and flips an upturned chair down to the ground, plops into it with an exasperated sigh, “I just wanted to get you inside.”

 

His shoulders visibly pop up at the revelation, his head bobbing in time before he paces towards her, then back away, nervously, “What, really?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you loser,” she slides the ritual cup of coffee across the small white table, Spider-Man still pacing giddily at the other end.

 

“For me?” He perks, then tenses in what MJ assumes is his attempt at being suave, “You shouldn’t have,” he presses one hand on the leg of the chair still upturned on the table top, and the whole chair slides with it.

 

She laughs as he tries catches it around the other side.

 

“Sorry, ‘bout this,” he almost whispers, so MJ pitches forward, arms crossed in her lap, watches him sit.

 

“I promise I take no personal offense that you knocked over that chair.”

 

“No, not that, well, yeah that too but more, huh,” his chest rises and falls in an exaggerated breath, like the rest of him needs a minute to catch up with his thoughts, “Sorry I never came back. I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“We both have jobs to do, I get it,” MJ smiles, hoping it’ll somehow make his masked expression look a little less sad, “I knew your MJ sense would kick in sooner or later.”

 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

 

“Well, MJ and all the other girls you’re busy wooing in coffee shops after-hours,” she smirks.

 

“What other girls?”

 

Her elbows sink onto the table in front of her and her head follows, gazing up at him, “Where’d you learn how to be so charming Spider-Man?”

 

“Karen’s a great wing-woman.”

 

“So _there’s_ the other girl…”

 

“No, no, Karens my AI in the suit,” he taps his fingers in front of him, “She basically monitors everything thats going on and controls a lot of the functions, and we like, talk and stuff. She’s an endless database. Lots of tips for pick up lines.”

 

“Oh, I haven’t heard any of those in here?”

 

“Yeah, because they’re awful,” he scoots his chair closer and leans forward, pushes a loose lock of curls that’s fallen slack over MJ’s face up and behind her ear, then continues as he sits back without a word on the motion, “She’s given me the perfect example of what _not_ to do when talking to a pretty girl. It’s very useful.”

 

“I can see that,” MJ is surprised at the sound of her voice, so calm compared to the keyboard smash thats happening internally, buzzing through her veins in all its asdfghjkuifnbv glory. “You’re doing a fantastic job for the record, had me waiting her four nights in a row just to hear some more from you.”

 

She means it sweetly, dare she say even, _flirtingly_ , but he seems absolutely crushed, “Oh god, _four_ nights? You mean, I could’ve come back the next day?”

 

“And every day after that, Spidey.”

 

“For real?”

 

“I cannot tell if you’re like really, genuinely confused by what’s happening here or if you’re just trying to get me to say I like you again.”

 

His bright white mask-eyes blink, and she assumes he really must be that oblivious. Sweet, dumb superhero.

 

“If you think I’m bad now, you should see me out of the suit,” he shrugs, flustered, “Not like, out of the suit literally, like naked or, no, I just mean—“ she watches his body try to catch his thoughts in a race again, and she laughs, (she doesn’t think she’ll ever meet the day it stops being _adorable_ ). “I don’t have very many friends when I’m just me, and I didn’t really know how I could possibly be any better when I’m even less me, you know, just this masked Spider-Man guy you see at night, so I don’t know. I freaked out and didn’t come back until my aunt complained about my tea-making skills and insisted I man up and get her some from my pretty barista crush.”

 

MJ picks her head up from its perch on her elbows and wishes that darn mask didn’t exist for just half a second.

 

(And yes, did you hear? She’s his pretty barista crush. She is! Michelle Jones! She! Pretty! Barista! Crush!)

 

“I like the suit a lot,” is all she settles on saying, “Besides, its the only you I know.”

 

“I assume you know I can’t—“

 

“My best friend is like the president of Spider-Man fan club. I know the superhero law inside and out by now.”

 

“Cool,” he nods, “So you know, then, that once this is over, I’ll have to kill you.”

 

Her nose scrunches up in a smile, “You know you are the very reason the serial killer thing has yet to die.”

 

“Hah, _die_.”

 

“That wasn’t funny at all,” she shakes her head, leans back in her chair and crosses her legs at her ankles, “And just proves even further I have the perfect picture of your dorky character with or without your costume.”

 

“It’s not a costume.”

 

“You can buy that in a store and wear it on halloween. Costume,” she drums her fingers on the side of her forearm, and he sits up defensively.

 

“Are you kidding? No you can’t, not this!”

 

“Right, I forgot, you have the awful wing-woman.”

 

“Karen, she doesn’t mean that,” he mumbles into the top of his shoulder. “And don’t think I missed that part where you said you liked me.”

 

“You said I’m pretty!” She yelps, arms outstretched on the sleek white table top.

 

“I speak the truth.”

 

“Again, I don’t remember reading about flirting lessons in the official superhero handbook.”

 

“Oh is that what we’re doing?” his feet pitter patter on the floor under this chair and his fingers crawl forward on pace, stopping just before they meet hers to draw tiny circles on the table.

 

“It’s so hard to believe you were actually too nervous to come visit me for half a week when you pull stuff like this.”

 

“Like what?” He feigns innocence, slides his hand flat so a few of his fingers find the in-betweens of hers. She stares at their touching hands before looking up at him with a wild smile, “Oh, you mean like this!” He nods down to the center of the table.

 

“I can see how you’re so terrible at this in real life.”

 

“Is this not real life?”

 

“Probably not, you’ve got way too many giggles out of me by the third day for it to be real life.”

 

Then _he_ giggles. Dammit, if that is literally not the most wonderful sound to ever grace the earth. She’s so sure of it. Her heart internally ticks down until he does it again, and she feels it shutter like an old fashioned alarm clock every time when it strikes.

 

“I want this to be real life, though, so like, stop with the giggles, maybe?” He quirks.

 

“Deal,” she smiles, “Long as the giggle ban doesn’t apply to you. I happen to quite like it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” her smile intensifies and she wiggles her fingers still pancaked between his, “Real life.”

 

“Woah, okay, so we’re committed to this real life thing?” She nods as he jitters, feeling his fingers bump the sides of hers, “Then I hope you know I can’t commit to holding your hand for like, another two weeks.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“In real life, I wouldn’t work up the nerve to even look you in the eye for at least the first month of knowing each other.”

 

“Well, thank god we’ve passed that, I might have been forty seven before you ever learned my name.”

 

“MJ,” he nods, as if to confirm. _Dork._

“Ant Man,” she she points back at him. She imagines now would be a good time for his mask eyes to learn how to properly roll. “No? Hmm, Captain Whats-his-name? Or no, don’t tell me… the Hulk.”

 

“You must have tons of friends in real life too. We’re perfect for each other.”

 

“No really, who are you?” She mocks, head turned slightly and eyebrow raised.

 

He leans back in his chair again, waving a hand off at her and letting the other cross against his chest. She lets out a mirthy laugh and she slides her chin back down between her arms, eyes pleading up at him.

 

“No, no, come back!” She wiggles her fingers outstretched to him.

 

“I told you I can’t commit to the hand-hold yet.”

 

“Yeah, I know, just come back here. Real life: I’d need to seriously study your face.”

 

He giggles, (Alarms! Ringing! Blaring!) and slides his crossed arms as close to her outstretched ones as he can, chin on top, “This better, ma’am?”

 

“Hmmm,” she hums, as if she’s considering it, “Little closer.” She beckons him forward with a quirk of one finger. “I figure if I stare at this dumb mask long enough I’ll acquire the proper super powers needed to see through it.

 

“You let me know when that happens.”

 

“That’s probably when we’ll have to lift the giggle ban.”

 

“Real life giggles are allowed by then?” He asks, “Damn, I’m gonna need this written out on a timeline, dates and times, specifics and all, you got a pen?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

He lifts one hand and twists an imaginary key next to his lips.

 

“Now that you’re done being a three year old, can you put your hands back. I like seeing how fast I can get you to tap your feet when I make our pinkies bump.”

 

It looks as though he’s got one heck of a flustered comeback for that one (maybe more giggles, her heart ticks down the seconds), but he never gets to voice it, as his head suddenly jerks up and his mask eyes widen, then his chair slides out and he drops beneath the table.

 

“What’s wrong?” She says, eyes wide, as she turns to look at the shops windows behind her. She sees nothing. “Bad guy?”

 

“Yes,” he whispers, still tucked under the table, knees scrunched up to his chest. She doesn’t think it offers much protection for either of them, so her heart promptly stops its ticking and straight drops instead.

 

“Shit, okay, do I call the cops or something?” She turns quickly between him and the window again, still scanning the street in mild panic.

 

“No, what? No, sorry. I should have been more clear. We’re fine,” he says, “Different bad guy. Camera guys. News stations. The paparazzi.”

 

She can’t help it as she gapes at the window, and suddenly actually feels more fear than she did before.

 

“Also, if it was a real bad guy, I know you forgot for a second there, but _I am_ Spider-Man.”

 

She rolls her eyes and stands from her chair, careful not to push it in and knock him over in his sub-tabletop perch, “So I guess we forgot to figure these camera-wielding bozos into our real life plans.”

 

“I should have seen it coming. Look, I didn’t mean to drag you into this. We can—“

 

“Behind the counter’s kind of cozy,” she shrugs, tilting her head back to him.

 

“What? No, you should go. You don’t have a mask and they can be—”

 

“I don’t wanna,” she turns back to him fully now, “C’mon, we can use my extra sweatshirt as like, a little blanket back there.”

 

He huffs, looks up at the counter, then back over to her, “They’d probably still see us.”

 

She doesn’t budge.

 

“You really—“

 

“Yes,” she says quickly.

 

“You really never want to let me finish a sentence, either.”

 

“You talk to much,” she crosses her arms across her chest, blows a string of curls from her forehead.

 

He taps the bottom of the table above his head a few times, she sees his large white mask eyes blink rapidly as she seems to scan the room.

 

“Do you trust me?” He starts, “Dumb question, you barely know me, of course you don’t—“

 

“I do,” she nods, “I trust you. Spidey suit may not be great for flirting but, it does a lot for the blind faith.”

 

His heels bounce underneath him and his head hits the top of the table, he giggles to rub it off (it’s literally a ticking time bomb, she’s going to combust before Ned ever meets him, she can feel it now), then looks up at her, one arm outstretched.

 

“Okay, disclaimer: this rushed my hand-holding timeline.”

 

“Thank god,” she sighs, and in one step, leans forward and grabs his masked hand. He doesn’t give her enough time to finish her snarky remark before he tugs them towards the back door. Her curls fly wildly behind her, surely guarding him completely from any camera-busy onlookers from the front, then they bounce and whip the side of his red mask when he turns them around the corner. In one fell swoop, never letting go of her hand ( _tick, tick, tick)_ he wraps their linked arms around her waist and tilts his chin up slightly.

 

“Oh my—“

 

He takes two steps back, then with a free hand shoots a web up to the top of the roof, and before she can screech her remaining “GOD!” in his ear, the ground parts from her feet and they spring up through the night air. Within seconds, she feels contact again, this time, with the roof (and, god bless that radioactive spider, Spidey’s abs).

 

He stumbles back, obviously flustered with his sudden actions, and shakes a hand out while he detaches the webbed one from the side of the roof.

 

She misses the contact. Of level ground but also… abs.

 

She flips her frazzled hair over her shoulders, watching him pace for a minute, before turning to see the view of the city over the ledge she stands near. She takes a step forward, eyes dancing across the twinkling lights that seem to stretch for miles, the buzzing streets she can hear, knows by heart, tall skyscrapers that cut the night sky with a jagged edge. She feels her breaths even out while she takes it in for a few moments, before it all goes to hell again when Spider-Man slides up next to her, shoulders bumping.

 

_Contact._

 

“I’d consider murdering you for not just letting us climb up that fire escape like normal people,” she points over the edge of the rooftop, eyes still fixed on the view, “But, this is too beautiful for me to ruin with hero blood.”

 

He lets out a tiny chuckle with his chin tucked, then looks over at her, “Yeah, beautiful.”

 

There’s really no word in the English language invented yet to explain the way her whole body melts in on itself.

 

He rocks back on his heels and she silently prays he’ll lift the hand-holding ban again.

 

After a moment he adds, “And no offense, but you’re just as guilty of keeping the serial killer thing going.”

 

“Hah, _guilty._ ”

 

He shakes his head and steps forward to lean his forearms on the ledge of the roof. If she thinks their city is beautiful, she can only imagine what it looks like through those wide, white eyes. She bends forward and joins him, eyes torn between her two views.

 

“We’re friends right?” He blurts between their silence, but doesn’t give her time to answer, “I just, I’ve never told anyone about this, but I feel like it’s a story you’d like to hear.” He breathes one of those deep breaths, but she doesn’t think he’s trying to catch up to himself this time.

 

He just, _breathes_ , which is strangely, intimately beautiful.

 

He starts up again, “We had this tiny little balcony on our apartment, well, not really a balcony. It was a fire escape, but, when I was little I thought we were really, fancy rich city socialites with a balcony, and I’d play with my action figures there for all the big fight scenes,” he says, with a tiny lilt of a laugh, “Anyway, I stopped going out there when I got older, until I was fourteen, and my uncle died. I was old enough to know better, but I don’t know, grief or whatever. And so I was convinced that I could climb out onto my little fire escape ledge, up what felt like a million stories, and if I stayed and looked hard enough, I’d find my uncle walking home to us on the street, with two bags of takeout in his hands and his favorite brown jacket on.”

 

He leans up on his toes to look more over the edge of the roof. MJ does the deep breath with him before he continues, “I did this for a few days, maybe a week or two, before one day, my Aunt May, _terrified_ of heights, climbed out the window and sat down next to me. And she just, leaned up and looked over the edge, just like this,” he leans forward again, then turns his head to MJ, “And told me she saw this guy balancing 3 boxes of pizza on the handlebars of his bright red bike.”

 

MJ smiles, “Three? That’s impressive.”

 

He laughs, looks back down, “She was lying, he didn’t exist. She just wanted me to start looking for something else.” His elbows slide out a little farther underneath him and bump into hers, but for the first time in all the dorky-wonder days she’s known him, he doesn’t stammer like an idiot. “So I laughed, for the first time in weeks, and tried to find something on the street to outdo her. Then it became this thing we did, and every night, we’d climb out on the fire escape and look down at the city, and try to point out the craziest thing we could see,” He looks up at MJ again, “I’m still waiting on a guy with three boxes of pizza on a bike.”

 

“You still do it?” She asks after a beat.

 

“It’s usually part of my, ‘I’m alive and back in my room’ text I send her after I’m out at night. And believe me, the things have gotten admittedly more interesting with this new job.”

 

A comfortable silence washes over them for a few minutes. Then, MJ unfolds an arm she was resting on and holds it out to him, “For the record, I’m aiming for more than just friends here.”

 

She wishes she had a superpower to memorize the way he practically hops on both feet, giddy, before propping up one elbow to grab her hand.

 

MJ bumps her forehead on their upright, interlocked hands lightly, smiling, before they let their hands drop over the ledge and she looks up and over with them.

 

After a moment, she gasps, “Oh my god.”

 

“What? What’s wrong?” He jumps up, leans into her in worry.

 

“I just saw a pigeon sneeze.”

 

He lets out the heartiest, full-belly laugh, head tipped back.

 

“Feel free to tell your aunt all about it.”

 

“Oh I definitely will,” he says on the edge of his laugh.

 

“I’m determined to win this game now,” she smirks, bumps his shoulder with hers.

 

“What? You can’t _win,_ that’s not how it works!”

 

“It is now, and I’m going to win. Every night.”

 

“Every— um, every night?” He coughs.

 

She nods. He squeezes her hand and she can hear the way his foot-tapping speeds up more than before.

 

“So like, just so I’m sure, since you wouldn’t write out a timeline for me…” he says, turns to face his full body towards her, and she follows, “This means tomorrow night?”

 

“And every night after that,” she shrugs, “Unless, you have anything more important to do.”

 

“Hmm,” he nods, “You know, I _can’t_ think of _anything_!” She laughs and he waves a hand and quickly yells, “No, no, no giggling please!”

 

Which, obviously, goofy as it is, this man in spandex telling her not to giggle, only makes her giggle more.

 

“Thanks for sharing that before,” she says, lightly, when she gathers herself, “I don’t have any cute fire escape stories, but, I have this weird impulse to share like, all the intimate details of my life with you at some point.”

 

“The character development here, really, is incredible.”

 

She giggles once before he puts one hand out and presses it against her lips to catch and muffle the rest of her giggles.

 

“We’re gonna have to work on that,” he says on a giggle of his own that she has explicitly allowed in this real life thing they’re doing and lets play out in its blissful entirety.

 

She stares across at his shiny, red masked face for a few moments, fingers buzzing interlocked in his, until sirens erupt from what sounds like a few blocks away.

 

“Spidey, I think one of those more important things is calling you.”

 

“Ugh,” he sighs over-dramatically and lets his hand swing out of hers, taking one step back, then another, and another each one slower as he continues, “Tomorrow?”

 

“Same time, same place. Though,” she says, and points to him, “You meet me here, no more of that flying nonsense. I’m gonna need a minute before we do that again.”

 

“Fine by me, I’m still shocked you wanna do this with me every night.”

 

“Every night,” she whispers, like its a little promise, and though they’re feet apart by now, she sees his white eyes widen, knows his spidey sense or MJ sense or whatever it is right now, picked up her tiny whisper.

 

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna web down with me.”

 

“Go save the world, already!” She yells, pushes a hand as him as he backs into the opposite ledge.

 

“Okay, okay, fine,” he just one arm out, preparing to web away, “‘Night, MJ.”

 

“Goodnight, SM.”

 

“Oh no, I don’t think—“

 

“I was just trying it, sounded better in my head,” she shakes her head.

 

“Don’t you dare giggle on me,” he points with a free hand as he shoots a web with his right, “I’m banking on this being real life.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream it, Spidey,” she says, tight lipped, but explosively giddy in every other way.

 

“Much better.”

 

* * *

 

And so MJ takes the night shift.

 

Again.

 

And again.

 

* * *

 

“Favorite color?”

 

“That’s a lame question.”

 

“I have 20, don’t I?” Spider-Man swings his feet, heels hitting the wall of the ledge of the roof they sit on, the sun setting behind them.

 

MJ hums and looks up, thinks, “I don’t know. I don’t think I have one.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, everyone has a favorite color!”

 

“Not everyone.”

 

“Yes, everyone!” He seems almost offended by her statement, yells as he bumps their shoulders together, “Its like, the number two childhood question. Right after what you want to be when you grow up.”

 

“What _do you_ wanna be when you grow up?” She nudges, eyebrows quirked up.

 

“You think you’re so clever, dodging my question,” his mask eyes narrow.

 

“Answer the question!” she ticks off a tiny tally on her palm, marking her seventeenth in their twenty questions ‘game’.

 

“Spider-Man,” he says, not missing a beat.

 

“Ambitious.”

 

“I had a big imagination when I was little,” he chuckles, head tilted towards her, “Professional video game player, if Spider-Man never worked out. Had to be little more realistic,” he motions for an imaginary controller in his hands, swerves his body side to side in the high-speed video chase he’s imagining, “Or, hair-braider. I loved braiding May’s hair.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, I only know the one braid though,” he starts, motioning to demonstrate in the air in front of him again, “Three groups of hair and you criss-cross. I was brilliant. Real career potential.”

 

“I don’t know, you talk a big game and nothing to show for it, Braid-master…” she says, running a hand through some of her hair that falls over her shoulder.

 

“Game on! Give me some hair to braid and prepare to eat your words, Jones,” he claps his hands together, prepping for battle.

 

“Do I not have hair?” She chuckles.

 

“Oh no, well, I mean, you _do,_ do have hair, I just—“ he sighs, “I like it just like this. Watching the little pieces blow up on your face and then your nose scrunches up when you try to move it away with like, telekinesis or something, and the way it bounces on your shoulders when you laugh at me. Which, I think is still illegal, but I’ll let it slide,” he leans in and whispers at the end, soliciting aforementioned laugh.

 

She never really payed attention in science classes growing up, so she’s not sure if she missed the part where they explain why the world actually lights up around her when he talks like that.

 

“How do you even notice that stuff?”

 

“MJ sense, remember?” He giggles.

 

“Right, of course,” she shrugs, feels a curl sweep over her forehead and tries not to think too hard about the face she makes when it does.

 

“So those were my answers when I was a kid. But now, what I wanna be when I grow up…” he hums, one hand behind his head and the other resting onto of hers on the rooftop’s ledge, “I think movie critic.”

 

“Movie critic?” She turns, eyes bright and wide to match her mocking smile.

 

“Yeah, think about it. It would literally just be my job to watch movies all day! The dream.”

 

“You know you’d have to watch more than just _Star Wars,_ right?” She quirks.

 

“Obviously,” he says, head shaking, “I’ve already seen every one. Like, four times probably.”

 

“Every one?” she smiles, “It is scary how much you remind me of Ned.”

 

“That’s your friend, right?” He asks earnestly.

 

“Yup, very best one. Since we were little middle school losers,” she looks over at him, “You’d really like him.”

 

“I’m sure I would,” he pauses, “Obviously if I remind you of him, he’s super cool.”

 

She honest to god snorts, “Yeah, that’s exactly the word I’d use.”

 

“I’m cool!” He yells back, then, without warning, hops off the ledge, leaving MJ alone. He spins back to face her after he takes a few steps away, hands on his hips, “If I wasn’t cool, could I do… _this_?”

 

And without warning he springs up on his feet and backflips over a line of building pipes. MJ bites her lips to keep from laughing and lets out an elongated “Wow…”

 

“Not impressed yet? Okay,” he sets himself upright, taps one foot out and cartwheels, “Bam!” He yelps, showily.

 

“Oh my god,” she shakes her forehead, lets it fall into the hand she props up in her lap.

 

“Wait wait wait, watch, Em—“ he bends down quickly, as if to touch his toes, but then kicks his legs up over his head, and starts to walk on his hands.

 

She winces with a laugh, “Please be careful!” He mumbles something about how ‘cool’ he looks right now ( _dork)_ and she part-tunes him out, part-worries for his safety even though she knows he’s literally Spider-Man, and part-stares at the sunset that grows darker over the skyline by the minute.

 

After a few moments, he’s still on his hands, and she fiddles with her fingers in her lap while she says, “Hey, when you’re done practicing for your circus audition over there, I figured out what my favorite color is.”

 

He stands with a quick hop, then wanders slowly back to her, one hand behind his head. He settles next to her, hips against the low wall, still standing.

 

He rubs behind his next silently, and MJ taps her knuckles to the side of his head, “All the blood stuck up there, buddy?”

 

“I think we can officially put cool acrobat on my list of potential careers.”

 

“Sure thing, and I’m going to be an astronaut,” she drawls sarcastically.

 

“Really?” He perks.

 

“No,” she blurts, and he quickly deflates. With a light smirk she adds, “I like my two feet on the ground. Leave the flying through the air stuff to you.”

 

His mask tightens on the sides of his face in what MJ’s learned is indicator of his widest grin.

 

“My favorite color, purple-orange,” she says, eyes on the sky.

 

“That’s not a color!” He yells, “And if it was, it’d be awful. Literally two of the only words in the English language that nothing rhymes with.”

 

“I wish the world could know how much of a nerd you are,” she sighs, then holds an arm out and points to the sunset, “Right there, that’s the color. Where the sunset turns from the reddish-purple to deep orange and it all mixes together into that… pretty mess.”

 

He eases up on his toes and leans closer to her to get a better look, follows her finger, “You’re making this up, I don’t see—“

 

MJ pulls his arm up with hers, wrists wrapped around each other and faces less than centimeters apart, side-by-side, then points, “There, see it?”

 

She can practically feel his shallow, nervous breaths bounce off of his chest, and feels pretty proud that she’s the only one in the whole city under the purple-orange sky that knows what its like to make a superhero nervous. Well, her and some super villains, but still. The knowledge mixes her all up inside.

 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” he nods, “I see it now, very specific.”

 

“Well, wasn’t this a better answer than just saying, I don’t know… blue?”

 

“Blue would have been a great answer!” He says, and his head turns towards her just the tiniest bit, she mirrors the motion, and thinks of how likely it is they bump noses any second now.

 

Deep breaths, MJ, deep breaths.

 

She stares level at him for a moment repeating her silent mantra, before a smirk bites its way onto her lips, “Blue is your favorite color, isn’t it?”

 

“God, you’re the worst.”

 

* * *

 

“Turtle on a leash.”

 

“You’re lying!”

 

“I’m not! Look for yourself,” MJ leans to her left and feels him slide up beside her, his chine pressed onto of her shoulder.

 

He’s quiet for a few moments, scanning the street below them, and then— “Oh my god.”

 

“And the reigning champ remains!”

 

“I didn’t even find mine yet!” He shrieks, pulling back to press fully against the roof’s ledge and pitch forward for a better look. Then quietly, he mumbles, “And it’s not a competition.”

 

“It’s only not a competition because you’re losing,” she smirks.

 

“And it’s only one because you’re winning.”

 

MJ laughs at his very concentrated glare and hits the back of her heels against the wall she’s sitting on.

 

“There!”

 

“What?” She leans closer to him for a look.

 

“A guy… in shorts,” He turns up sheepishly at her.

 

“You’re right, not a competition at all.”

 

“It’s February! Who wears shorts in February? Crazy, man!”

 

* * *

 

MJ’s found their rooftop to be the perfect place for sketching since their meetings have started, and sometimes she liked to climb up there early and freehand some stuff before he swung over.

 

It’s peaceful, quiet, relaxing after being on her feet for hours to sit up against the small rooftop ledge, sketchbook in her lap and pencils scattered around her, tucked under an arm, pushed inside her hair. And some days she’ll hear his feet land on the ledge behind her and she’ll snap her book shut. Other nights, usually when he has his most energy pre-espresso shot MJ Special, he bounces around the space, babbling about all the stuff he saw on patrol before he arrived. She continues to sketch while listening absentmindedly to him recount the purse he saved for a woman, the car accident he stopped, the six pennies he found on the sidewalk which is 4 more than the day before. And once it’s all out of his system, he slides over next to her and asks her how her day was, and he somehow always makes the lattes she made sound much more exciting than anything he did.

 

This is usually how it goes. It’s a routine she likes. Fend off Ned’s pestering, wave him out the door and lock it, climb up the fire escape, open her notebook, listen to Spider-Man talk and try to stop her eyes from turning into literal heart-shapes.

 

Spidey must have missed the memo today.

 

“Good morning, MJ!”

 

She looks up from her notebook, not having heard his feet stick the landing as she usually does. He waves from his spot standing above her and she grimaces, “It’s 9pm.”

 

“I know!”

 

“You hit your head today?” She pats the spot next to her, motioning for him to sit next to her.

 

“Nah, I just realized,” his head tilts a little, oddly reminiscent of a puppy waiting for a treat, “I was gonna say good night, but that makes it sound like I’m leaving. Isn’t that weird? Like, who decides these things.”

 

“Someone had a lot of free time tonight.”

 

“Really, MJ, though, you ever think about that? The English language is so weird!” He slides down to sit next to her, but instead of his usual spot leaning against the wall, he twists his back to her and… yup, yeah, this is real thing thats happening, rests his head in her lap, right on top of her open notebook.

 

She gapes at him, his body, looking so small and fragile all curled up next to her, a stark contrast from it’s usual swoon-worthy build. She hears him hum lightly as he snuggles in closer, and dear god, if it isn’t proving just as, if not more, swoon-worthy the way it is right now.

 

“Nope, never thought about it like that,” she shakes her head.

 

He twists his head up a little, and the top page he rests on rustles with the motion, “Wait look, I think I see a star.. wait— no, airplane. Still cool though,” his eyes follow two blinking lights above them.

 

He has to be part squirrel. Like yes, she understands the whole spider-bite thing, but does no one else see this? His tiny little puppy dog attention span? The way his voice raises three octaves when he finds anything even remotely exciting? And he can find paper clips exciting.

 

Its too frickin cute for her to say anything about it though.

 

After a moment or two, he starts up on his usual retelling of the day, and well, since her notebook is otherwise occupied, she has to find something else to draw on while she half-listens.

 

I mean, she loves the guy and all, but, this is the plan. The routine. His squirrel chatter can only be half-consumed by her human senses otherwise she might explode.

 

She starts by tracing the lines on the ground next to her with her pointer finger, then the seam down the side of her jeans, and totally not on purpose or anything, but ends up running tiny shapes up his shoulder, his forearm, her fingers slip-sliding easily across the shiny suit.

 

She doesn’t notice she’s doing it until he finishes talking, the point at which she’d usually shut her book with a sounding _thwap_ and then carry on with whatever dumb teenager things they were going to get their 20-something selves up to on the rooftop for the night.

 

She suddenly gets really nervous about it and stops, obviously.

 

“So how was your day?”

 

“Eh, it was okay,” she shrugs offhandedly, more concerned with finding something else for her fingers to do so they don’t follow the almost magnetic pull they’re fighting back to his arm.

 

This, apparently, is not a good enough answer.

 

“What, just okay?” He perks, head tilted back to look up at her from his spot still leaning into her lap.

 

“Yeah, I mean it was fine, nothing special. Not great, not bad either,” she says, clenching her hands at her sides. _Focus,_ MJ, charming spider-boy sitting in your lap. _No big deal,_ remember? It was no big deal weeks ago when Ned was insistent on it, so it’s no big deal now, right?

 

Tell that to her fluttering insides.

 

“Well that’s terrible, anyone that gives you reason to not have the most spectacular, wonderful day deserves like, eternal wedgies,” he says seriously, and she laughs.

 

“Ooh, I’m terrified, you gonna give it to them?”

 

“Mhm,” he hums, reaching one arm across his stomach to grab one of hers and placing it lightly on top of his shoulder, “Do that thing again, I liked it.”

 

Oh fuck him, really, just. Fuck. Him.

 

“It was a fine day. I made 10 more coffees than Ned, and stole one nickel from Flash’s share of the tip jar,” she focuses on every syllable of each word while she resumes her pattern-making on his suit.

 

“Oh well, look at that! Good day!” He says, “Don’t spend that nickel all in place now.”

 

“I’ll try not to,” she chuckles lightly, then poses, “What would you do with a stolen nickel if you had one?”

 

“Hmm…” she watches his lips move under the mask and squish to one side in pursed thought, “Buy a gumball, maybe?”

 

“I think you need a quarter for that.”

 

“Really? Hmph,” he knocks his head to the side, “Then I’d throw it in a fountain and make a wish.”

 

“Of course you would,” she shakes her head with a small laugh.

 

He taps his feet on the ground next to them, and she follows her fingers down his arm, listening to tires squeal and car horns blare below them.

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my wish would be?”

 

“No, because then it wouldn’t come true,” she nods down to him.

 

A minute or two passes in silence, and she can see his chest fill up and fall with each breath, and the way he must be buzzing underneath that slick suit of his as each breath gets longer and longer until…

 

“Iwouldwishforyoutohaveagoodday,” he yelps in one quick breath.

 

She just laughs, his head rocking as her knees bounce, “What was that?”

 

“I know you heard me, don’t make me say it again,” he crosses his arms across his chest.

 

“You lasted longer than I thought you would, little Spidey that could,” she giggles, “Thought you might huff and puff and knock me over.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Don’t be mad at me,” she says through another laugh, “You’re the one who has made it officially impossible for me to have a good day by saying your wish out loud.”

 

“Sometimes I forget why I like you.”

 

She pushes his shoulder and his body rolls away from her with one of those impossible sunbeam in the middle of the night kind of giggles.

 

He settles back into his spot just just a moment before there’s a loud crack of thunder that interrupts MJ’s train of thought (that, surprise surprise, looks a lot like spideyspideyspideyspideyspidey).

 

And then rain. So much rain.

 

He squeals and jumps up from her lap, hands above his head and elbows tucked by his ears, as if that’ll protect him.

 

MJ watches him scurry away, hop around the roof on his way to the fire escape for indoor safety, and considers putting herself on the heart transplant list when he discovers puddles.

 

A squirrel. Definitely part squirrel.

 

“Oh my god, MJ, get over here!”

 

“You looked like the Wicked Witch two seconds ago, afraid the rain might melt you, and now you’re what? Gene Kelly?” She shakes her head at him and drops of water fly off her wild curls. He just shrugs and hops in the center of a puddle right across from her.

 

“If I start singing, just remember… you asked for it,” he points to her.

 

She can’t find it in her to get up, completely sloshed and soaked as she is. She could sit here and watch her mind-of-a-toddler superhero splash in the rain all week.

 

“C’mon,” he yells, running over to her.

 

She starts to protest, tell him she’s content to swoon over him visually, from a far, but he’s already standing over her, hand grabbing hers and pulling her up.

 

“You know this is actually insane, right?”

 

“Yup!”

 

“And dangerous!” She strains to yell, the pitter-patter of the rain growing louder as it’s pace picks up.

 

“I’m Spider-Man, I’ll keep you safe from all danger!” She squeals when her foot splashes an extremely large puddle and by instinct, squeezes the hand of his she’d gripping. Feeling brave, she grabs the other, their bodies facing each other, almost flush.

 

“Right, I almost forgot, you haven’t mentioned that in the past 30-seconds,” she rolls her eyes and eases up on her toes, closer to him.

 

“Well, its the coolest thing about me!” He yells, and the mask isn’t really helping how hard it already is to hear him over the rain.

 

“No it’s not!” She shakes her head, “Definitely not the coolest thing about you. But thank you, for keeping me safe from all burglars and thieves!” she adds with a loud giggle.

 

“Well, not _all_ thieves,” he yells, and she turns her head to try to hear him better, voice still very muffled in the rain, “There’s this one guy I just _can’t_ stop from trying to steal your heart.”

 

She steps back and grins madly, jaw-dropped in an open-mouth smile, “Oh, that was awful! Someone stopped listening to Karen’s advice!”

 

“C’mon, it was cute!” He yells, and drops both her hands to point his hands in web shooting position at her chest, “Bam! Bam! Got your heart, it’s mine now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” he leans back and waves his hands at her, feigning epic battle at her heart.

 

Doesn’t he know he’s had it for weeks? Stupid brilliant superhero boy.

 

For purely sarcastic and dramatic purposes she leans forward, cupping her ear towards him with one hand while yelling, “Oh, what did you say, I couldn’t hear you?”

 

And then before she has time to process what’s happening, his wide mask eyes scrunch up and his hands fly up to his neck, and he pulls the bottom his mask up just below his nose.

 

“I said: your heart! I stole it! Er, I’m trying to, metaphorically!” He yells sheepishly, and MJ wishes she has the willpower to look away from his lips.

 

Because holy shit, she’s looking at his actual face.

 

“Was that better, could you hear me now?” He yells again, nervously, when she still hasn’t answered, “I thought it’d be easier without the mask to make it all, muffle-y?”

 

MJ nods, “That’s your mouth,” she mutters dumbly, hand raised by her face with a small point.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he smiles, one hand reaching up behind his neck in that nervous way it always does.

 

And then, god help her poor, unsuspecting heartbeat.

 

He smiles.

 

“Shit, and that’s your smile!” She beams, stepping closer.

 

“Yes, it is,” he nods, smile not faltering for even a millisecond.

 

If he giggled right now, she would die. No doubt.

 

MJ stares at his smile so long, so close, as if she has to personally etch it’s every detail into her memory.

 

She hates to tear her gaze away, but quickly turns and rummages for something in her back pocket. When she faces him upright again, she holds out one shiny, silver nickel between her thumb and pointer finger.

 

“Take this, make a different wish,” she shoves it towards him.

 

He sputters, smile still growing, “What, why—“

 

“Because I had a good day,” she nods, “No need to wish for that anymore.”

 

* * *

 

“MJ, prepare to be amazed,” Spider-Man swings onto the roof and, without any other introduction or explanation, immediately grabs both of MJ’s hands and pulls her to the roofs edge.

 

“Guy dressed as Mickey Mouse,” he nods down below them, but MJ’s eyes stay on him, unimpressed.

 

“I see that guy like 4 times a day,” she says flatly.

 

But he stays as excited as ever, his whole body practically buzzing as he adds, “A guy dressed as Mickey Mouse _and_ a Power Ranger. At the same time.”

 

And he’s so proud of it, bouncing on his heels as he uses one hand to point it out to her that she can’t find a single fiber of her being that wants to break his heart and tell him she’s seen that guy before too. And she’s usually never opposed to breaking hearts.

 

“Not bad, Spidey, not bad.”

 

“Try to top _that_!”

MJ presses her lips in a tight smile to avoid the overwhelming giggle that bubbles up inside her as he triumphantly swings their interlocked hands at their sides.

 

“Okay, get this,” she challenges with a smirk, “I found a boy…”

 

“Oh no, not a boy!”

 

“A boy, who forgot to keep his sticky spider hands in check and has now stuck his hand to a girl’s. _Again_.” She lifts their hands and shakes, watching them stay adhered together, not-budging.

 

“Shit, I really gotta work on that.”

 

* * *

 

“First planet discovered using the telescope?”

 

“Uranus.”

 

“The May Queen and Lane’s Prince Albert are both species of what?”

 

“Apple.”

 

“Are you kidding, why do you know that?” Spider-Man yells, sitting below the counter one night, and MJ watches him throw a pile of flashcards up in the air furiously.

 

“Just admit it, I’m smarter than you,” she turns to face him below her, hands on the counter she’s still cleaning since some one (read: some spider) decided to show up early.

 

“Knowing that…” she watches him scrunch up his masked face as he brings one card up to his face, “Australia!” He yells, looking up at her, then continues, “That Australia is the continent that’s cut into two equal halves by the Tropic of Capricorn doesn’t make you smarter.”

 

“Yes, it does.”

 

“That’s useless knowledge!”

 

“These are the actual flashcards I used when I was captain of my high school AcaDec team and we won nationals with them so, yes, useful and yes, smarter,” she huffs with a smirk, then turns back to cleaning.

 

MJ dug up her old flashcards when the pair came to the realization the other night that they were both on their school’s academic decathlon teams, and agreed that they probably competed against each other at one point without ever knowing.

 

Where they don’t agree though, is who would have won these match ups.

 

Although, facts are facts and MJ has answered at least 7 more right than him.

 

“These questions don’t seem very fair. I get all the hard ones,” he grumbles, his feet sliding on the floor in front of him in a mock-tantrum.

 

“Dude, one of yours was literally ‘what’s the only US state that starts with the letter ‘p’?’” She laughs.

 

“That’s not my fault! Pennsylvania is one of those irrelevant states no one knows!” He screeches back, defensively.

 

“Tell that to our founding fathers.”

 

“Yeah, well, most of them were jerks, anyway, so I don’t feel bad,” he huffs, arms crossed.

 

She smiles, shakes her towel out and starts to move to the other side of the counter, “Stop being a sore loser or I’m gonna make you help me clean—“

 

“Hey MJ, I just got off the phone with my mom, she—HOLY SHIT!”

 

MJ’s head snaps around when she hears her name come from the end of the shop, by the back storage room’s door.

 

Ned. Ned!!!!

 

He ran out when they were mopping the floor before to answer a phone call from his mom (you don’t ignore that woman, MJ’s learned) and she completely forgot he was back there when her super-friend swung in.

 

She blinks twice and watches his jaw drop more and more as each second passes. But he has not thrown up, passed out, or flat out exploded yet, staring at Spider-Man sitting on their coffee shop floor, so, she’s considering it a win.

 

“Right, Ned, meet my friend, Spider-Man,” she starts nodding, hands about to push through the seems of her aprons pockets, “Spidey, meet Ned.”

 

“Heard a lot about you, Ned, cool to finally meet you,” Spidey waves nonchalantly from his perch on the ground.

 

“You guys talk about me?” Ned barely seems able to blink at him as he says it.

 

“What did your mom want?” MJ perks, nervous smile plastered wide, toes tapping furiously.

 

“Not important, MJ, that’s Spider-Man!” Ned waves her off and takes one tentative step forward.

 

“Oh god, I’m not getting anywhere with this tonight,” she sighs, “You two get your little nerd love-fest out of the way or whatever’s about to happen that I know I’m going to hate, I’m gonna put the milk and creamers away and come back later.”

 

She waves off and disappears for a few minutes, but can’t help the giant smile on her face when she’s elbow deep in the large storage fridge with the milk containers and hears her two favorite boys excitedly gossiping about theories on the new _Star Wars_ movie.

 

* * *

 

“The streets are so empty tonight.”

 

“Stop making excuses, I’m still going to beat you.”

 

“You know, all I have to do is pull my mask up again and smile and you’ll shut up.”

 

“Stop, that was a moment of weakness,” she looks down and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I know your weaknesses too you, know.”

 

“Considering all my weaknesses probably have to do with either you or 3 month old puppies, as long as you don’t plan on sharing them with any super villains or bank robbers, that’s fine by me,” and she can tell by the way his mask moves, he’s doing one of her Achille’s heel smiles. “Oh hey, look! It’s Ned!”

 

She follows his arm down to the street and sees, indeed, her best friend waves up to them on the roof.

 

“God, I’ve created a monster,” she shakes her head but waves back, “Is that your entry for the night?”

 

“No, no, I got this,” he claps his hands together as Ned retreats and continues to scan.

 

After a minute, MJ leans up and whispers in is ear, “Pigeon eating a pretzel, on our left.”

 

“Are you kidding?!” He yells wildly, “I was just about to say that!”

 

* * *

 

Some days, MJ doesn’t get the night shift. It doesn’t stop her from literally staring at her clock until she watches the time switch to the coffee shop’s closing and then she grabs her sweatshirt and speed-walks through the city to their rooftop.

 

However, she does have to work regular shifts, morning shifts, when those days come too. So, here she is. Cursing the world through the bitter morning rush of coffee-to-goers.

 

“Thank you, have a great day,” she smiles as she hands the last customer in the longest, never-ending stream of people she’s ever seen walk through those doors, their receipt.

 

She braces herself against the counter with a long sigh and shakes her full and curly ponytail against her back. She turns and looks at Ned filling up a latte from under her arm, “Do you wanna get lunch after this. Something gross and greasy and satisfying, like McDonald’s or something?”

 

“I would never pass up McDonald’s,” Ned caps the cup in his hand and pauses to hand it to the waiting customer, “However, I have a—“

 

“A date, right,” she rolls her eyes, “God, Ned, you were so much more fun when you were single.”

 

“Okay listen, not all of us can have daily romantic clandestine meetings with our boyfriends on the roof.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she shoots him a look, stands up and crosses her arms.

 

“Well, you can no longer use the lame excuse that he’s just your best friend, because, he’s _my_ best friend.”

 

MJ hears the door chime open again signaling a new customer, and glances back at Ned once before reassuming her position at the register, “I’d have a great comeback for that right now if I didn’t have customers coming.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, save it lover-girl,” he laughs, and she watches two people walk into the shop.

 

It’s a middle aged woman, long, shiny dark hair, and a boy, er, not boy, but not man either, a guy? A guy who looks about her age, messy curls untouched on top of his head, and whispering something forceful at the woman, whose hand rests on his lower back and pushes him forward against dragging feet.

 

“Good morning,” MJ says brightly as they approach, one hand already on the computer screen.

 

“Hi there,” the woman says, still facing her other half, whose face looks bright pink up close. The woman turns to MJ now, and repeats “Hi, how are you?”

 

“I’m well, thank you,” MJ smiles and studies the way the woman wiggles her eyebrows at him while she speaks and he turns a shade brighter, “What can I get you today?”

 

“A medium earl grey tea for me, please,” the woman says, smiling up at MJ.

 

She keys the order in with a nod then looks up at the boy, “And for you?”

 

He clears his throat with a loud cough, flustered for some reason unbeknownst to MJ, but apparently hilarious to the woman he’s with, before stuttering, “Uh, no thanks, nothing for me.”

 

MJ smiles politely and looks down to finish the order when the woman chimes in again, “Are you sure, Peter? Their stuff is great here.”

 

The boy, _Peter_ apparently, just shrugs and tucks his head deeper into his chest. And MJ doesn’t know what about it is so intriguing, because she never talks to customers more than she needs to, but something about this compels her to add, “I do make a mean coffee.”

 

“Thank you, really, but—“

 

“Hazelnut and honey with milk, one sugar, and 2 shots of espresso. You now know the most coveted secret recipe in this whole shop,” she leans up and smirks at him. You’d think with the way he blushes that she just took her top off.

 

“I’m allergic to hazelnut!” He blurts.

 

“No you’re not,” the woman swats him, then turns back to MJ laughing, “He’s not, he’s kidding.”

 

“Great, because you’re a part of a very elite coffee network now. No take-backs once you’re in,” she teases and looks down to type in the last part of the order, “Anything else?”

 

“That’s it,” the woman says.

 

“Okay, that’ll be $5.97 and one signed confidentiality contract,” MJ looks up and smiles, as the woman pulls out her card with a laugh and the boy next to her bites back a similar one.

 

“You are amazing,” the woman slides her card into the small machine in front of her and beams up at MJ, “You know he hasn’t smiled like this since I bought him that Lego death machine thingy for Christmas a few years ago, you remember?” She turns at the end of her sentence towards the boy with a twinkling smile, then pulls her card out.

 

He shakes his head and points his eyes up at the ceiling, and says quietly through a wide smile, “Oh my god, I am never taking you anywhere ever again.”

 

And his smile is visible for barely half a second before he nervously tucks his chin again, but its enough to send MJ’s stomach into a familiar knotting frenzy at the sight.

 

“I think I built one of those with my friend, it was torturous,” MJ says seriously, earning another round of laughs, “Can I get a name for the order?”

 

“May,” the woman says.

 

_“Tea of choice for Aunt May?”_

_“She likes Early Grey, thanks.”_

“May,” MJ whispers under her breath,  then grabs the receipt, “Um, May,” she repeats louder, shaking her head out of her thoughts, “Beautiful name.”

 

“Aw, thank you,” the woman says sweetly, then leans forward a bit to read MJ’s name tag, “Don’t tell me the M is for May too?”

 

“Oh, no, Michelle,” she nods, grabs two cups from on her left and pulls the sharpie out of her apron pocket.

 

“Michelle, well, it was lovely to meet you,” the woman, May, says, and starts to step down towards pick up, “And thank you.”

 

“Of course, hope we see you again,” MJ smiles earnestly, following the boy as he practically trips over his own feet following the woman.

 

“We’ll definitely be back _soon,_ right Peter?”

 

He nods sheepishly, gestures a small wave at MJ before they’ve stepped out of line. MJ scribbles ‘May’ on her two cups and slides them over to Ned.

 

She waits by the register, playing with the hem of her apron for a minute before she hears, “Peter? Hey, what’s up man?”

 

She looks down the other end of the counter to see Ned fist-bumping the boy with May as he hands them their drinks, both smiling. She misses most of the rest of their conversation, still trying to unknot everything that got twisted from seeing him smile. Once they nod goodbye to Ned and move to the small, separate countertop with sugar and stirrers, MJ walks slowly towards Ned.

 

“You know that guy? He seemed _so_ familiar,” she leans over to him and says quietly.

 

“Oh, Peter? Yeah, we’ve had a few classes together, same major,” Ned nods towards the pair, fighting over pink sugar packets.

 

“So nerd studies?” MJ smirks and Ned pushes her away. She stumbles from the force back towards her spot at the register.

 

“No need to be rude just because I won’t get McDonalds with you!” he yells.

 

“Hmm, you also friend-dumped me for spandex-guy,” she quirks.

 

“Shut up and get back to work or I’m leaving you here alone with Flash.”

 

And MJ tries to get back to work and not think too much about May and Peter.

 

Keyword: tries.

 

* * *

 

“Before you say anything, get over here and look at this dog,” MJ giggles, one hand behind her, beckoning her late-night rooftop visitor closer without taking an eye off the cutest dog she’s ever seen on the street.

 

She feels him approach and look over with her, “Is that—“

 

“A dog wearing a mermaid tail? Yes, yes it is,” she smirks, “Another point for MJ.”

 

“What do you win when this is over?”

 

“So, you acknowledge that I’ll win…”

 

“Hypothetically speaking,” he presses out a hand, “How much of my life savings will this elaborate prize you’re surely planning dip into?”

 

MJ laughs and slides to sit against the wall on the roof in her usual spot, hoping he follows. “I don’t know, I was thinking a trip to Europe, but that felt a little excessive,” she jokes.

 

“Maybe pick just one country in Europe and I might be able to swing it.”

 

“Was that your way of telling me we travel by web and not by plane?”

 

“No, that sounds just about as awful for me as it does for you,” he laughs and sits next to her, and she taps her toes against his playfully, “I’d put you on a plane. Hypothetically.”

 

“Okay, prefect. 2 round-trip tickets to… France, yeah let’s do France,” she smiles, “And not hypothetically because I’m going to win.”

 

“And the extra seat is for, what? Your first place trophy I’m also buying?”

 

She sighs and looks up at him. Oblivious, really, someone needs to teach this man some social cues.

 

“No, no trophy, you can just buy me an extra croissant or something when we get there.”

 

“Are— um, what— Me? Am I, coming on this trip?” He stutters.

 

“If you say no, I’m sure Ned would be happy to take your place.”

 

“So how, exactly, is the two of us going on the trip for a made-up contest _between_ the two of us, in any way a prize for only _you_ winning it?”

 

She shrugs and settles her head against his shoulder, “I get the aisle seat.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, MJ?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Not one, but _three_ dogs in sweaters. Across the street.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

Its about 7pm one Friday night and the shop is fairly empty, a few customers that have been through an average of 3.5 coffees each and have barely moved from their studious stares at their laptops. MJ rests against the counter next to Ned, doodling on coffee cups with her faded black Sharpie.

 

“When do you sleep?” He asks her, curiously.

 

“Um, at night. Like most people,” she says, not looking up form her cup drawing.

 

“I mean, you’re up half the night with your boyfriend on the roof. And I firmly support it, because you’re so, madly in love with each other, but like, _when do you sleep_?”

 

MJ’s eyes peer up under her eyelashes and she considers correcting 3 out of the 4 bold statements Ned just made, for the sake of maintaining her ‘no big deal’ attitude she’s pressed since day one, however…

 

 _Madly_ in love might not be her choice of words but it’s certainly on the same page in the thesaurus.

 

So she keeps her mouth shut for a minute and absentmindedly scribbles more sketchy hearts on her cup, “It helps that I work at a coffee shop.”

 

Ned laughs once and nods his head towards her, “So that’s for you?”

 

“Yeah, you want one too?”

 

He hums, then nods, “Yeah sure, love me a good MJ Special.”

 

She swats him on the shoulder then moves to grab another cup and then fill them with hot coffee.

 

“Okay, next question,” Ned chimes again from behind her, “Do you plan on ever talking to him in a location that is not the roof?”

 

“I’ve talked to him not on the roof,” she says, then grabs the milk.

 

“Inside the building of the roof you frequent doesn’t count either,” she can feel how pointed his look is on her back.

 

“Watch it with this interrogation or I’m spitting in your coffee,” she points back,  stirring the light liquid on one cup, then the other.

 

“I’m not— I just, I want this to work out for you and I know you’re capable and brilliant, but when your head goes into the spider-brain realm—“

 

“This just keeps getting worse,” she mumbles under her breath with a shake of her head as she caps their coffee cups. She hands Ned one coffee and smiles at him, “I have a plan.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes,” she nods, but her friend seems underwhelmingly convinced by her lie. She adds musingly, “I just haven’t gotten to the part where we address—“

 

“The strange concept that you know hundreds of intimate details about his life that he’s never shared with anyone but you, yet, you can’t ask him what his name is or know what he looks like?”

 

“Exactly,” she sighs, then takes a long swig of her coffee.

 

“I feel like those are important things that should be addressed in the plan say, before you book the honeymoon to France!” He says, exasperatedly, then also takes a sip of his coffee, and mutters, “Damn, this gets better every time.”

 

MJ smiles, “Listen, I wanna ask, but I feel like the pros of _not_ knowing outweigh the cons of _knowing.”_

_“_ You know when he said he’d have to kill you, that was a joke, right?”

 

MJ scoffs and nods at the door that chimes open, signaling a new customer. She barely registers who walks in, just takes another sip of her coffee and tucks her sharpie back into her apron pocket. She’s about to move to the other end of the counter, her head still down, looking at her apron, when Ned reaches out for her wrist to hold her still and says, “Hey, Peter!”

 

MJ’s eyes glance up and she sees the shy boy from a few weeks ago standing in front of the register again, this time alone, but just as flustered as she remembers him being the last time.

 

“Peter, this is MJ,” Ned smiles between the two, and MJ nods politely.

 

“Um, yeah, uh, hmph,” Peter coughs softly, head turned to his shoulder and barely lifts it to add, “Yeah, she, uh, she ordered my coffee for me last time I was here.”

 

MJ swirls the very coffee he remembers in the cup she’s holding, “Yeah, what’d you think of it?”

 

“Amazing,” he answers, almost on impulse, then his cheeks flood red. “Uh, really great, thanks.”

 

MJ nods and the right corner of her lips turn up in a sweet, half smile.

 

“Perfect, so Peter can help us with our _dilemma_!” Ned says showily, eyes wide, and MJ turns to glare at him out of Peter’s line of vision.

 

“Ned—“ she challenges.

 

“No, no, he’s really smart. I copied his homework for like half a semester. He’ll know what we should do,” Ned shakes her off and leans his hands on the counter, “So, here’s the problem. Let’s say, hypothetically, you have this… _friend_ ,” Ned starts.

 

“Okay,” Peter nods.

 

“And this friend meets someone. Someone that you, as their friend, happen to think would be a great friend for them as well, because they make her really happy. Like, unmatched levels of happy that not even MJ’s coffee could compete with!”

 

“Wow, that’s a lot of happy,” Peter smirks and MJ has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. But a slight smile escapes.

 

“I know, things are looking great and all, and they’ve passed the best friend seal of approval—“

 

“Really?” Peter’s eyes shoot up and brighten. MJ blinks at his excited stance before his posture deflates and he rubs his palms on the sides of his pants nervously, “I mean, great. That’s great for them. So, what’s the problem?”

 

“They have uh… a secret. Yeah, a big secret, that for some crazy reason your friend, who is really close to this person, and only has their best intentions at heart by inquiring about this secret, still isn’t allowed to know,” Ned says.

 

Peter nods, cheeks heating up under the two stares on him as he  hums his consideration.

 

“But, you think, maybe,” MJ adds, a glance at Ned, “Maybe, it’s not such a crazy reason at all.”

 

“That’s a good point,” Peter notes lightly, one hand pointed to MJ with a nod. She smiles affirmingly.

 

“But your friend doesn’t give you any good reasons why it’s not crazy, and you’re worried about her.”

 

“Fair point, again,” Peter nods between them, but MJ barely registers his presence, turning to face Ned set with an indignant glare.

 

“Maybe your friend has a hard time talking about her feelings because she’s never experienced anything so intense before. And the situation is unlike anything either you or your friend have dealt with and maybe you should honor  your friend’s perspective because she’s the one living it, not you!” MJ’s voice lifts in force and tone as she speaks.

 

“But maybe, as an outside observer, you have a clear enough head to see that your friends happiness is more important than not potentially offending this other person she’s met,” Ned’s intensity doesn’t back down as he continues their ‘hypothetical’ argument, and MJ seethes, tears threateningly stinging the back of her eyes.

 

“Well, maybe your friend knows that you shouldn’t screw up a good thing while you have it because they never come more than once, and this is that _once_ for her,” MJ says forcefully, but quieter than before, just to Ned, eyes wide, “And maybe she really just wants one good thing to last, and the secret doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in comparison to every other good thing she’s gained from this person.”

 

“MJ,” Ned says softly, but they both snap their heads away from each other when Peter clears his throat next to them, having forgot he was even there.

 

“Um, I can definitely see the dilemma, and I’m probably not an expert on the situation, because, obviously, its very specific and I am in no way, involved, or anything like that, uh, um, obviously,” he stutters, his eyes flitting around the room, anywhere but at the two baristas behind the counter, “But, if you want some general advice…”

 

“Yeah,” Ned nods. MJ just turns to face Peter fully again.

 

“Um, I think people have secrets for important reasons. Crazy, sometimes, yeah, but always important. And It might not be the secret itself that scares this person, but what happens after. Which is what it sounds like your friend is scared of too.”

 

“Exactly,” MJ says, “It’s like everything stays contained inside their little floating bubble.” She notices the way Peter’s eyes glow, soften, as she looks at him, and gets that strangely familiar knot in her stomach again that she can’t shake.

 

“Taking the mask off,” Peter starts, then shakes his head furiously, “I mean, metaphorically, like the ‘mask’ he wears because of the secret, or she, not that I know its a guy or whatever,” he babbles his hands waving wildly and nervously as he does, “But um, they probably want to take the mask off. And they’ll probably get close, sometimes, and you should just be patient. With both of them, your friend included.”

 

“And everything will work out okay in the end, right?” Ned says hopefully.

 

Peter smiles calmly, for the first time since MJ’s known him, and something about it wrecks her from the inside out, “Better than okay. It’s going to be good. Because the only thing better than flying around in a bubble with someone great, is when the bubble pops, and you get to fall.”

 

“That sounds like you pulled it straight out of a cheesy rom-com,” MJ giggles at him.

 

“I have a friend that helps me work on my charming one-liners,” he quirks.

 

_“Karen’s a great wing-woman. Lots of pick up lines.”_

MJ presses a hand to her forehead and snaps out of her thoughts as he continues, “But um, falling is good. It sounds scary, like thats the bad outcome of a situation, but it’s not. Lots of things to see on the way down,” Peter shoves a hand in his back pocket, “Came up with that one myself.”

 

“You could work for Hallmark, writing greeting cards,” MJ’s eyebrows pop up as she smiles.

 

“We’ll add it to the list of my potential career choices. Who needs that degree, right Ned?”

 

_“I think we can officially put cool acrobat on my list of potential careers.”_

_“Sure thing, and I’m going to be an astronaut,” she drawls sarcastically._

 

“Hah, yeah, 4 years of torturous work later and what do we get? More work!” Ned laughs, and Peter echoes.

 

 _That laugh_ , MJ gets stuck in her head for a minute, knowing full-well she must be going crazy, because she’s met Peter twice but that laugh is so… tick, tick, boom on her heart.

 

“Would have been easier if I’d discovered the MJ special sooner,” he chuckles lightly, his head quirked in a familiar, nervous way.

 

“Yeah, lemme get you one,” MJ points, “Sorry we kept you waiting on our very hypothetical ’dilemma’,” she pats Ned on the shoulder as she passes him to grab a coffee cup.

 

“Hey, no problem. I get how difficult a situation like that can be. And added meddling outside observers,” Peter says.

 

_“I freaked out and didn’t come back until my aunt complained about my tea-making skills and insisted I man up and get her some from my pretty barista crush.”_

MJ squeezes her eyes shut as she braces herself against the counter, back to the two boys. _Get a grip, MJ,_ she silently yells at herself, _get out of your head  and these made-up coincidences and make this poor guy some coffee_.

 

“Here you go,” MJ slides the cup of coffee to Peter when its finished, and waves off the hand he moves to reach into his wallet, “Trade you advice for coffee.”

 

“No, really—“

 

“Please, just take it, on me,” MJ presses with a smile.

 

“Thanks,” he says softly, reaching out to take the cup in both hands, “Well, um, good luck with everything dilemma related. See you later Ned, MJ. Well, not actually _later_ but—”

 

“I think we’ve heard the expression before,” MJ smiles as Peter walks slowly out the door.

 

“Right, English language is crazy. Well, goodnight!”

 

_“Really, MJ, though, you ever think about that? The English language is so weird!”_

 

And the door chimes shut behind him.

 

MJ turns to leans her back against the counter, staring at the coffee-brown wall behind her with a loud sigh.

 

“Sorry about that MJ, I didn’t know—“ Ned starts.

 

“It’s okay, good talk. I’ll work on the whole, secret thing,” she nods, smiling at her best friend.

 

“Well, no need to worry about ‘falling’, since you’ve already very clearly fallen in love with the guy,” he snickers and dodges a swift hit to the stomach from MJ’s white towel. “But seriously, you good?”

 

MJ sighs and thinks not much progress has been made on the secret front, even though she’d like Ned to believe that and stop worrying for his own sake. So she just smiles and starts to nod before another nagging thought crosses her mind.

 

“Hey, Ned?”

 

“Yup?”

 

“Did you tell Peter we call that coffee the MJ Special?”

 

“Uh, no, didn’t you, the first time you made it for him?” Ned asks, then starts to walk to wards the back closet, “I’m gonna start to wash up for the night, if that’s okay with you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she nods absently, and even though she swears she didn’t call it that the first time Peter ordered coffee from her, maybe she’s just forgetting.

 

She’s definitely losing it. She should probably listen to Ned about getting more sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, hold still!”

 

“I can’t! It tickles!”

 

“Your nose is ticklish?” MJ laughs, on hand in her lap on her sketchbook and the other, very literally, on Spider-Man’s nose.

 

“Probably not normally, but it is now!” He squirms under her touch with an explosive giggle and MJ leans forward to try to pull him back.

 

“So, you’re only ticklish for me?” He nods, and the motion only makes him collapse even further into himself. MJ grins madly, “How cute.”

 

“It’s not cute, I don’t even know why you want to do this!” He tries to jump away from her set with another laugh but eventually leans back in.

 

“Because tonight, while I was avoiding cleaning up and watching Ned do it instead, I drew the bottom of your face,” she swipes a hand across the page with the sketched mouth and chin, “And I hate that it looks so unfinished.”

 

“So you need to feel my nose?”

 

“Well, if I can’t look at it, I figure this is the next best thing,” she shrugs, “I tried to just imagine it while I was waiting for you after closing but kept picturing you as someone else.” She shakes out the thought ‘ _Peter, I think that you’re Peter_ ,’ because it’s crazy, definitely, and instead sighs, “So I was patient, and now, you’re going to let me draw you!”

 

“Why don’t you just draw it with the mask pushed up, just like this,” he moves a hand from his side and pulls up the mask to show his familiar grin, “Also, I thought you said you weren’t working tonight?”

 

“Well, Ned was supposed to be on with just our arch nemesis co-worker, so I decided to be a good friend and save him,” she shrugs and leaves one hand in his lap and uses the other to pick up her pencil and start sketching.

 

“That was oddly nice of you,” he says and laughs at her soft punch.

 

“Ignoring that, it was actually nice tonight. I met one of Ned’s school friends and got some good advice,” she continues with her head tucked to the drawing, “And, I really like the idea of you without your mask. So, give your ticklish face a break and then I’m coming back.”

 

He smiles one of those somersault-inducing grins and MJ tries not to mirror it.

 

“You know, I like the idea of me without my mask too,” he says, barely above a whisper.

 

“So then, take it off.”

 

“You know I can’t.”

 

“Do I know that?” She challenges, dropping her pencil. His smile drops.

 

“MJ—“

 

“I’ve been pretty understanding this whole time, the months I’ve known you, and spent hours literally _every_ single night getting to know you, without knowing the most basic thing about you,” she says softly, eyes wide, “And like, usually I’d say to hell with it because a name, or looks, don’t make you fall in love with someone, it’s everything else and I have all that—”

 

“Are you—“

 

“Don’t make me repeat it Spidey, I swear,” she says, and despite her serious message feels a smile bubble up watching his smug grin explode across the small exposed part of his face, “You make it very hard to have a real conversation with you when I’m staring at those stupid white eyes and that awful smile.”

 

“I do wanna have a serious conversation now. A serious conversation about lifting your giggling ban.”

 

“God, you remember that?”

 

“MJ, I literally can not get a single moment I’ve spent with you out of my mind,” His smile grows, “Perks of the Spider sense.”

 

“MJ Sense,” she corrects with a point.

 

“My MJ sense,” He sighs, “It has been off the charts lately.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Mhm,” he hums, “I know you wanted to have a serious conversation about my identity but if I promise I’m working on it, and agree to let you go back to tickling my face, can we leave the serious stuff for another time?” And it’s truly embarrassing how quickly she agrees, the charm on this boy, she swears, will be the death of her. “When I have on this suit, everything’s serious. And usually not in a great way. No one tells you about that part of the job. How, sad, and lonely, being a hero can get,” he says.

 

MJ reaches out and grabs one of his hands before he continues with one of the most brilliant smiles she’s ever seen, “But since meeting you, for the first time in years, I don’t dread putting it on.”

 

“You are like a walking cliche, I swear…” she shakes her head with a laugh and picks up her pencil again, “Now lemme feel your nose again.”

 

“And you are the worst!” He counters, but obliges and leans forward into her touch anyway.

 

She sketches him for what feels like hours, or maybe only minutes, she’s not quite sure, laughing as he continues to giggle and squirm and require her to reteach herself the English language every time he smiles because its just that Earth shattering when its not behind red-spandex.

 

It’s an awful picture when she’s finished, like she’s done it with her eyes closed, especially the parts he insisted he fix himself “because she got it all wrong” and thats why his ears are in the shapes of peanuts and his eyes are two different sizes and his hair looks like the top of an off-brand baby doll.

 

But my god, she loves it.

 

She holds the notebook up to his face and laughs at the comparison, “Oh my god, this is awful.”

 

“So I shouldn’t switch to being an art major, is what you’re saying?” He giggles, peering his head to the side to look at the sketch.

 

“Stick to the crime-fighting, I think,” she laughs again, then pulls the book back to her lap.

 

“The mouth looks great, I did good on that,” he shrugs.

 

“I drew the mouth!”

 

“What? Really?” He feigns shock before scooting to his left and then laying on his back, “Ah, all that artistry made me tired.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” MJ rolls her eyes, but moves to her right and lays opposite him, her head next to his. She sighs as she settles into her position, legs stretched out in front of her, and looks up to see him prop his feet up, knees to the sky, behind her. “Have you ever played our game in the sky?”

 

“What?”

 

“Our fire escape game, or now, rooftop game,” MJ says, “You ever spot anything weird in the sky?”

 

“What, like an alien? A UFO?” He laughs, and even though MJ can’t see his body from this position, practically swoons thinking of the way it shakes with his laugh.

 

“I don’t know, it was just an idea.”

 

“I would be a good idea if we could see stars,” he muses, and rolls his head to the side to face hers, already on her left cheek, looking at him. Their noses just centimeters apart, her whole body feels like its on fire when he adds, cheekily, “And I hope you know now would be the perfect time for me to make some cheesy point about the stars in your eyes.”

 

Her nose crinkles, inching closer to his, in her giggle.

 

“And I hope _you_ know,” she starts, with a deep breath and boost of confidence that spontaneously combusted inside of her, “That now would also be the perfect time for me to kiss you.”

 

His mouth parts in a tiny gasp and MJ seriously means it, because he’s literally so close, and so perfect, and that mouth is the most kissable looking mouth she’s ever seen and it’s driving her nuts and—

 

“And I would totally do it,” she cuts off her own rambling thoughts, “If your face weren’t upside down to me right now.”

 

“I would also, very much, be pro-doing that. If we weren’t upside down.”

 

“Good to know we’re on the same page,” she whispers, a small smile playing at her lips.

 

“Would you like to, um,” he clears his throat, and MJ’s stomach drops, “Not be upside down right now?”

 

It’s so quiet, so soft, so nervously wonderfully him, that MJ feels like she could probably burst into tears.

 

So she does the most nervously wonderfully her thing in response:

 

“Nah, I’m actually really comfortable right here,” she turns her head back up to the night sky and laughs when she hears his exaggerated sigh.

 

“MJ, how many times do I have to tell you that you’re the worst before it gets through that head of yours?”

 

“Try me again tomorrow,” she smirks.

 

“And the day after that?”

 

“And every day after that.”

 

* * *

 

 “Oh my god, look! Girl with rainbow hair.”

 

“Are you serious?” Her spider-boy shrieks and stands on his tip toes to get a look at the girl MJ points out on the nighttime street. “Damn, she pulls it off.”

 

“That’s a badass move,” MJ smiles, “Do we think I could make it work?”

 

“I feel like I’m biased,” he shrugs, turning to look at her, running one gloved hand through her mess of curls, “I’d say you could make a garbage bag look good.”

 

“Flattery cannot distract me from the fact that you still haven’t found anything tonight,” MJ smirks and presses her shoulder into his chest, looking back down on the street, “And the fact that once you do find something, it won’t top mine.”

 

His laugh ripples across the top of her head and MJ is sure she’s never felt so content.

 

“Oh, hey, found it,” he says.

 

“What?” MJ steps aside and grips her two hands on the side of the rooftop ledge, and looks down.

 

“I see a girl…”

 

“Do not say a girl with rainbow hair!”

 

“A girl,” he repeats, and MJ feels him turn to look at her, “Who is not upside down to me right now.”

 

And it’s like every other moment she’s had with this superhero suddenly feels a whole lot less crazy. Realistically, she knows how bat-shit crazy this whole thing is in the first place, but damn. No one prepares you for when fucking Spider-Man wants to kiss you.

 

Crazy. Just, totally batshit crazy.

 

“Well, would you look at that,” she manages, calmly, twisting her body flush against his. “You might just win this one round.”

 

“And it wasn’t even Karen’s idea.”

 

She giggles, eyes locked on his, then takes a deep breath and says, “So are you gonna pull that mask up over your mouth or…”

 

“Oh, right!” His mask eyes widen in the sudden realization, and she suddenly sees so much of that shy iteration of the superhero in front of her from the first night she met him. “Sorry, lemme just—“

 

And she barely gives him the time to move his hands from the sides of his face where he pulls up the mask before she lunges forward, whole chest to his, and catches his lips with her own.

 

Kissing. Kissing Spider-Man. That is happening. Still happening. Kissing.

 

Her thoughts don’t get more complex than that.

 

And if his giggle makes her weak, the kissing is definitely paralyzing.

 

* * *

 

“I brought you a surprise,” MJ looks up from the book she’s reading on the roof one night to see Spider-Man, who, just in case the record does not yet accurately reflect, _she kissed… repeatedly,_ swinging a large white bag in his hand.

 

“Is that,” she squints as he makes his way over to her, “Is that McDonald’s?”

 

“I’m starving, couldn’t wait until I got home, but I’m nice and thoughtfully brought enough to share,” he starts to sit down next to her and she doesn’t wait for him to hit the ground before she takes the bag and starts eating French fries.

 

“God, how did you know I’ve been craving this for _weeks!_ ”

 

“MJ Sense,” he taps, but she is fixated solely on the bag of food in front of her, and he lightly shakes his head and laughs, “Well, hello to you, too!”

 

“Sorry, hi,” she finishes a bite of another fry and presses a distracted kiss on his cheek before resuming her rummage through the fast food bag. “This is great, thank you.”

 

“I said we were sharing?”

 

“Well, realistically, I’m going to eat all these French fries myself, so you should just go swing now and get yourself some more,” she looks up with a perky smirk and points behind her to the city and he sighs.

 

“If I’m not boyfriend of the year, I swear,” he starts to stand up and MJ looks up with a gaping smile.

 

“Who made you my boyfriend?”

 

“Can I be your boyfriend?” He looks down at her, one hand on the ledge and god, its hot, really, but sometimes she misses have the upper hand over him like she used to when he was too nervous to even look her in the eyes.

 

She quirks her head to the side and pops another fry into her mouth, “Get me more fries and I’ll consider it.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, then takes a running start before swinging off the ledge of the roof on a web.

 

MJ laughs lightly, because she still can’t quite comprehend that _this is her life now_ , but it’s pretty freaking awesome.

 

She pulls the bag she’s taken hostage into her lap and peers into the top. She moves a wrapped-up cheeseburger to the side for better French fry access when she accidentally grabs the receipt.

 

It’s greasy, after being pushed under all the food, and MJ doesn’t think anything of it when she decides to just pull it out so its out of her way completely. And sue her, for being mildly curious, it’s like instinct, really, when she looks at the small slip of plastic-y paper before putting it down and notices the tiny typed ‘Peter’ at the top.

 

Holy shit.

 

French fries are coming back up.

 

She coughs and stands up wildly, a violent burst of energy at her newest realization, because _thats his name_ , she knows his name now and she doesn’t really know what she’s supposed to do.

 

She rings out her hands and paces the rooftop, cracks her knuckles in a fist, makes strange shapes with her lips, tries to focus on anything other than the fact that she just read Spider-Man’s name off his McDonald’s receipt at 10pm on a Sunday night, alone.

 

She is not succeeding.

 

MJ has no idea what do with herself, running out of places to pace and French fires look oddly unappealing at the moment, and she is getting stuck in her own thoughts again so she does the second stupidest thing she decides to do tonight and pulls her phone out of her pocket and calls Ned.

 

I mean, she’s just not at her brightest at the moment.

 

“Hey, MJ, can I call you back, I’m with—“

 

“Ned! Its Peter!” She screams into the phone.

 

“What?”

 

“Peter! Peter is Spider-Man!” She feels her eyes go so wide and buggy they’d rival his mask.

 

The line goes dead silent for a minute before, “Shit, what!” Then she barely makes out a muffled, “Sorry, Betty, MJ emergency, I’ll be right back.” And when Ned’s full voice turns back to the phone, “What the hell happened, MJ?”

 

“Well, _a_ Peter is Spider-Man. But I think it’s your Peter,” she continues her frantic pace.

 

“What do you mean you _think?_ ”

 

“He left me a bag of McDonalds and I saw his name on the receipt!”

 

“Why is his name on the receipt!” Ned’s voice raises an octave each time he returns to speak, and MJ’s not far behind him. “I thought McDonald’s did numbers for orders.”

 

She continues their yelling match, “Why is that what you’re fixating on right now?” She looks up after a pause, then mutters into the phone, “But yeah, I have no idea when they switched and it has been bugging me.”

 

“Hah, _bug_ ,” Ned chuckles.

 

“Not the time!” She yells, “Seriously, what do I do?”

 

“Is he not with you right now?”

 

“No, I told him I wanted more fries and then I kissed him on the cheek and he shot a web and flew away—“

 

“Pause!” Ned screeches, “You did what?!”

 

“I asked for more fries?” MJ mumbles.

 

“Michelle Jones, I swear—“

 

“Okay yes, we’re kissing now. That’s a thing. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner—“

 

“You better be sorry!”

 

“More on that later, right now… identity crisis.” MJ huffs and peers over the edge of the roof, strangely feeling like she needs more air even though she’s already outside.

 

“Okay,” Ned starts after a pause, “One more comment and then I promise to be constructively helpful.”

 

“Yes,” MJ nods.

 

“Have I taught you nothing about superheroes? If the guy didn’t even want you to know his identity, why would your first instinct upon learning it be to tell me!”

 

“Okay, fine, I’m noticing a lot of character flaws here right now, and I’m not proud of them, but they’re happening, and it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be back soon and I know his name when I’m not supposed to.”

 

“Okay, shh, deep breaths, this is a good thing, right?” Ned soothes on the other end of the phone, “Both of you were scared of this and now it happened by accident so its like the band-aid’s been ripped off and now we just deal with the open wound itself and hope there’s no infection.”

 

“That metaphor is not helping.”

 

“So it just says Peter?” MJ hums in affirmation, “And you think its _Peter_ because…”

 

“I know I only met him twice, but he kept saying things that were so familiar. Like, exact things Spider-Man had said to me,” she paces, counting off the coincidences she remembers in her head, “Like I had a weird, gut-feeling about him, but who guesses someone’s identity based on a smile?”

 

“Someone who’s in love, duh!” Ned yells, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He must sense her anger through the phone, so he adds, “What about his voice?”

 

“That too, strangely familiar, and at first I couldn’t place it,” MJ sighs, “But now it all makes sense. The first time he came in the shop, Spider-Man asked me to make an Earl Grey tea for his Aunt May. And he knew nothing about coffee.”

 

“Right,” Ned affirms

 

“And when Peter came to the shop the first time, he had no idea what to order so I made him my MJ Special. And he was with a woman named May who ordered—“

 

“Earl Grey tea!” Ned yells.

 

“Yes! God, I feel so stupid for missing it,” MJ shakes.

 

“Hey, its not your fault, and besides. You know now. And I know now, which is— holy shit.”

 

“What?” MJ says.

 

“Peter is Spider-Man!”

 

“Glad you’ve caught up,” she deadpans, taps her foot and adds urgently, “So seriously, what do I do?”

 

“Fake your death?”

 

“Ned—“

 

“Just tell him, what’s the worst that could happen?” Ned says, and MJ sees a flash of red hit the side of a building a few blocks away.

 

“Shit, he’s almost back.”

 

“You’ll be fine, you wanna leave me on the phone while you talk to him?”

 

“Why?”

 

“In case he kills you?”

 

“Oh my god I’m gonna throw up, can you make up your mind whether he’s going to hate me or not?”

 

“He’s not going to hate you, he loves you. You guys are going to laugh about this very soon. And I’ll have great content for my Man of Honor speech.”

 

“Okay, right, you’re right, I’m fine.”

 

He’s one building away, literally seconds.

 

“That’s right, you’re a boss-ass barista bitch!”

 

“Whoo,” MJ yells and spins, “I got this. Boss-ass barista bitch.”

 

“Yes, I love you, go kiss your no-longer anonymous boyfriend!”

 

“You would not believe the line there right now,” MJ hears a voice behind her and quickly hangs up her phone and shoves it into her pocket. There’s a breathy laugh and MJ feels her whole body physically tighten.

 

 _You got this_ , she reminds herself, _boss-ass barista bitch with a no-longer anonymous superhero boyfriend_.

 

When did these things start to sound normal?

 

“So, do we have an update on the boyfriend situation now that I’ve gotten you at least half your body weight in French fries?”

 

MJ turns and walks closer to him, slowly, heel to toe in a wobbly line, “Eh, I don’t know…”

 

“Emmmmm,” he whines, then turns up his mask and sits with the new bag of food, unwraps a cheeseburger, “Wow, I don’t know if I’m just that hungry, or this actually smells gourmet.”

 

“McDonald’s is delicious, what are you talking about?”

 

“I don’t know, I like Wendy’s better usually, I think, but this was on the way,” he shrugs and takes a bite, holds up a French fry to her before she lowers herself to sitting next to him in their spot, “French fry for the lady?”

 

“Sure, thanks, Peter.”

 

“No problem. I didn’t know if you liked ketchup or—“

 

The rooftop goes dead silent when he cuts himself off mid-sentence, drops the fry in his hand on the floor next to him.

 

MJ hasn’t fully sat down yet, paused in her crouched position next to him. Her eyes flit from his wide-eyed mask to the limp and discarded French fry.

 

“Well, you just wasted a perfectly good French fry.”

 

“MJ—“

 

“Seriously, that’s a dramatic stunt I would pull, didn’t expect it from you,” she laughs lightly, turns to sit down and uses one hand to shut his slack jaw with a gentle tap under his chin, and then resumes her position devouring MCDonalds in large quantities.

 

“How did you—“

 

“It was on the receipt,” she says.

 

“Oh, I uh, I gave them a fake name, obviously,” he tries to add over her, quickly, but she knows him too well to believe any of that.

 

“Relax, we don’t have to make a big rom-com deal of it or anything, unless you want to,” she surprises herself with how steady her voice remains, how cool and unbothered she sounds when in reality, sirens go off in every cell of her body that scream _BIG DEAL HUGE DEAL CATASTROPHIC DEAL!_

“I’m not, I don’t know—“ his rushed voice makes a strangled yelp as if he’s back to trying to catch himself before he speaks, “I was not expecting McDonald’s of all things or people, to be the one to out me.”

 

MJ giggles and eats another fry, _she’s got this_.

 

“I was going to tell you myself, and it was going to be really romantic,” he sighs and defeatedly takes a bite of his burger, “Karen and I had been practicing.”

 

“I’d like to hear those tapes.”

 

He’s silent next to her for a minute then turn to look at her, “But you don’t know which Peter I am, huh?”

 

“There’s only one Peter I know that would even come up with something stupid like that to say.”

 

“You have no proof! I still got this,” he says and jumps up, “Is the door unlocked to the shop?”

 

“No, would you sit down? I know who you are,” she waves him over, “Let’s eat our first meal together in peace.”

 

“But it was going to be so cute!” He whines, and yes, she’s 96.3% positive that he’s _Peter_ Peter, but she’d like to be certain anyway, so she decided to let him have this. It’s already ‘so cute’ anyway.

 

“Okay, well, I’m not climbing all the way down just to unlock it for you so, think of something else, Romeo.”

 

“You’re not even the slightest bit concerned by this fact? This is life-changing MJ, we _know_ each other now!” He bounds around the rooftop not unlike she did before.

 

“Yeah, I already went through all this after you left,” she eats another fry, “I’m just hitting the acceptance stage.”

 

“So you’re not mad? Scared? Hate me? Wish death upon me and my future offspring?”

 

“Only thing better than flying in a bubble with someone is falling with them,” she sighs, looking up at him where he stands, leaning on the rooftop ledge opposite her, “Though, in my experience, I hate flying on your web so, this falling thing better be pretty spectacular.”

 

His head tilts to one side and he laughs, “Pretty smart guy must have told you that.”

 

“Same _smart_ guy who ordered an MJ Special when I never told him we called it that.”

 

“What? I knew, you told me—“

 

“I told Spider-Man, I never told Peter!”

 

“Yeah, you did! Hazelnut, honey, milk, one sugar, 2 shots of espresso,” he ticks off on the fingers of his left hand, “Oh shit, you never told me.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“I ruined my cute rom-come moment a second time.”

 

“We can still have a cute rom-com moment,” MJ shrugs and stands opposite him, “Do you sing?”

 

“You’re going to regret asking that.”

 

“We could run at each other in slow motion?”

 

“You’re the worst, you know?” He shakes his head laughing, “Did it stick this time?”

 

“No, all I’m hearing, ‘Hi, MJ, my name’s Peter and I’m going to rip my mask off and make out with you now!’”

 

“You know, a normal person would just ask me to kiss them if they wanted me to!” He yells and starts walking towards her, one hand already on the mask.

 

“Yeah, but this is real life, and in real life I’m a pain in the ass, get used to it, Spidey,” she follows, walking towards him as well.

 

Closer, he says, “If we’re really committing to this real life thing now, does that awful nickname ever get to die?”

 

“Nope,” she pops, hands in her back pockets as she gets closer, just a few steps away from him now, his mask slid up over his nose, about to reach his eyes, “This is the only you I know.”

 

“Please don’t make fun of my mask hair in a second,” he says, one final sigh before he pulls the last remaining bit up. She laughs but he pauses, “Wait close your eyes.”

 

“What? No, just take it off!”

 

“I’m nervous, this is a big moment for me!” He waves his hands at his sides, having dropped his grip on the mask still over his eyes.

 

“Are you forgetting that I already know what you look like?”

 

“I know but still I—“

 

And honestly, MJ just can’t stand it anymore. She’s a boss-ass barista bitch and if she wants to kiss Spider-Man with his real eyes showing then she’s gonna do it. Rip the band-aid off, open wound, er, open eyes.

 

So she lunges forward in a half running motion, and as if in all the rom-com slow motion glory he’d been hoping for, she fists the chest of his suit in one hand and uses the other to pull the mask straight off the top of his head as she kisses him. She kisses him once, twice, what feels like a million times, grabs every part of his lips in her own in this wonderful little bubble that sends her heart falling off a 30 story building with no safety net.

 

They part after a moment, soft kisses that keep pulling her back to him finally at bay for a moment, long enough for her to hold both his cheeks in her hands and sigh, her forehead against his, staring.

 

“What, do I have something in my teeth?”

 

“No, its just,” she smiles, leaning back to get a full look at his face, and _shit_ , there it is, _the giggle_. She has to step back fully from him, arms swinging at her sides to recover.

 

The giggle and the face and the little curl of his hair that doesn’t quite sit right is really just, criminal.

 

Hah, _criminal_.

 

“I need to fix the sketch,” she nods at him, then points a finger to the tip of his nose, eliciting another one of those life-ending giggles, “Got the nose all wrong.”

 

“You’re still the worst but god, you are so pretty,” he laughs, “In case I haven’t mentioned it in a while.”

 

“I think it’s been a good 30 seconds since the last time you reminded me, so yes, thank you,” she nods. “When do I get to kiss you again?”

 

“Whenever you want, MJ.”

 

So she wraps her arms around his neck and swings herself into his body again for a deep, heated kiss that warms her up, sets her body buzzing, and from the looks of it, has the same effect on him.

 

He steps back sheepishly, bites him bottom lip in an embarrassed grin as she laughs, “MJ sense is really acting up tonight.”

 

“Oh, is that what we’re calling _that_ now?” She smirks, “At least buy me dinner first.”

 

“What do you call that?” He points behind her head to the bags of discarded French fries.

 

“Well, they’re cold now,” she shrugs, “No one like cold fries.”

 

“Fine, let me go home and change out of the suit, then I’ll take you out to real dinner with warm fries.”

 

“Or,” she muses, holding his hands at their sides, “I could come home with you and _help you_ change out of the suit.”

 

“Oh my god,” he yelps, dropping his forehead onto her left shoulder that shakes as she laughs loudly.

 

And its so beautiful, seeing the city at night with the prettiest boy in the world on her shoulder, the top of his messy hair right where she can kiss it, his hand all nervous and spider-sticking to the palms of hers, a purple-orange sunset to top it all off.

 

All because she covered Flash on one awful night shift.

 

She’s just about to go against all her morals and say something really teen-romance novel cheesy about how beautiful the view is when you’re falling in love, but just as she’s about to move her head to talk to him, she notices something down on the street out of the corner of her eye.

 

Shit, the universe is really on her side.

 

“Hey, Peter?”

 

“Yeah, Em?”

 

“I won.”

 

“Very cute, did you ask Karen for that one?” He chuckles. “Though I’d argue  I won here too, I mean, have you _seen_ my girlfriend?”

 

“No, no, I mean, I really won,” she nods, lifts his head up from her shoulder and points to the street behind him, “Man on a bicycle. 3 boxes on pizza on his handlebars.”

 

“Are you kidding?!” He screeches, bolts to the side of the roof, and peers over.

 

She stands a few feet from the edge, and bless the end of the giggle ban, laughs as she watches him pop a foot up behind him, two hands on the ledge, and beam when he spots it.

 

And yeah, she thinks, she could get used to the view.

* * *

 


End file.
